My mother screamed that she was leaving and my father followed her to the garage door. I knew where this was going when he shouted "you’re not going anywhere." I ran down stairs to find that he had started to strangle her. I couldn’t believe my eyes, I could not fathom what was happening in front of me. I started screaming and crying "please stop, please stop." I pulled my hair as hard as I could, fell to the ground and began rocking, begging him to stop "please Daddy, please stop, please." He kept strangling her and eventually she went limp and dropped to the ground.

When she came to, he still would not let her leave, so she called 911 (one of many such calls). When the police came, my mother was sitting at the top of the stairs, my father at the bottom. They immediately saw the necklace of bruises around her neck and asked if she wanted to press charges. She smiled in a strange way and said "no." They advised her that it was her right to press charges, and she still refused, still smiling oddly. They turned their attention to my father, who was staring down, blankly. "Sir, she has the right to leave if she wants to." My father kept staring down, unresponsive. The police looked at each other, visibly unnerved. "Sir, your wife has the right to leave. You can’t stop her." Still, no response.

At this point, I am pacing behind the 2 officers and I can see each of them slowly raising their right hand, one reaching for his gun, the other for his baton. I didn’t know what a panic attack was then but I was in full panic. "What am I going to do? I can’t let them shoot my father. What am I going to do?" raced through my mind. I decided that if the officer pulled his gun, I was going to grab his arm. Finally, my father said "OK."

I was 11 years old and I went to school the next day, as if nothing happened.

The incident was never spoken of again.