I’m awake in the dark of my room watching for any movement in the hallway. There is the patter of small feet, a flash under my door, and the closing of another. I quietly peek my head out towards the bathroom, quickly enough to see the light shut off from within.

The banging outside the house grows louder, a fury of impatience.

Making my way towards the end of the hall, I freeze at the frenzy of incessant bashing. Did he catch me?

“OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR.” My father’s voice rips through the night, echoing around me. Involuntarily I whimper, feeling the sweat in my palms, scurrying forward.

Softly I knock at the bathroom, faintly whispering, “Hey, let me in.”

One click, and the door swings open revealing my nine-year-old little brother.

I go in, trying not to show how frightened I am. I can hear his breathing, feel the tension. Before I speak a knock makes us both jump.

“It’s me.” Our older sister’s voice is muffled. Once we let her in, I notice she has the phone in her hand. “I didn’t know Dad wasn’t home when I locked the doors. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful.”

Respect. Next to loyalty, this was the utmost value our father demanded of us.

My heart is racing. I swallow but the lump in my throat is immovable.

“I’m afraid,” Little Brother says too loudly.

“Shh,” we hiss. We wait as quietly as possible, ears to the door. Did he get in? My chest is tightening. My brother touches me, and I flinch.

“We have to call.” Older Sister holds the phone out like a beacon.

“They won’t come,” I warn. “It’s his house.”

No sooner do I utter the words than “THIS IS MY FUCKING HOUSE” tears through the night. Gasping, I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s only for a few heartbeats, but my mind wanders to the tub. A jagged crack in the outer wall serves as a reminder of what can happen when he loses his temper. I can’t help but wonder if he’s wearing those dark brown leather boots.

“We make him call,” Older Sister points to Little Brother. “They can’t ignore him, he’s too young.”

“I won’t say the right thing,” Little Brother responds as our sister forces the lifeline into his hands. His hand trembles as he tucks it to his chest.

“I’ll help you,” I try to reassure him. We hear glass shattering. The adrenaline is contagious between us. “Hurry!” I’m panicking at the thought of our dad crawling through a broken window.

Little Brother dials the emergency line, the trill so loud we all wince.

Relief spreads through my body when we hear the operator ask, “What’s your emergency?”

Coaching my brother, I whisper, “Our dad is drunk and very angry. I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me.” Little brother turns to us. The glow from the phone gives his cheek a yellow hue. He mouths, What about you.

Older Sister shakes her head no. Just you, she motions back.

The operator continues, “Are you home alone? Where is your mom? Can I speak to an adult?”

“She’s at work. She’s a nurse at night.” Searching for us in the dark, my brother grabs my shirt and squeezes. I take his hand and grip it tight.

“Are you in a safe space?” The operator starts typing.

“I think so.”

“What’s your address sweetie?”

With me relaying, he recites it back to her. None of us breathe the moment she realizes the house number. Her pause ignites the terror we shared silently. No one wants to call the cops on a prosecutor. “Are you there? Please help,” my brother begs.

“We’ll send a unit over now. I’m going to keep you on the line until they arrive.”

Covering the mouthpiece with his fingers, he asks, “Can they arrest our dad?”  I nod my head yes.

We wait in deafening silence until hope is heard in the sirens steadily growing louder with each turn towards the house.

Finally, “They’re here,” Little Brother tells the operator, hanging up the phone.

We strain our ears trying to figure out if the police officers are speaking to our father. We can tell his cadence has changed, his voice now calm. It was a natural switch he made for everyone but us.

A lighter knock sounds at our back door. Both my brother and sister turn to me. They knew I watched our dad vigilantly to understand what made him happy. It was to the point that I knew what type of evening it was going to be by how he set his jaw or scrunched his eyebrows. I was absolutely certain the knock wasn’t our father’s.

“It’s not dad,” I confirm. Older Sister tells us to wait as she goes to confront the officers.

Little Brother and I both try to listen, but we aren’t sure what’s being said. When our sister returns, she’s pale. He saw her.

“They’re taking him to Grandma’s for the night. They called her and she said he can stay there.”

“Do you think he will?” I ask. How long would we have before he came back?

“The officer told me she wouldn’t let him leave tonight.” Older Sister shrugged.

“What about us?” Sweat dampened my shirt, sticking to my skin. Would they make us go to our grandma’s house too?

“Well, I’m 16. Out of respect for him, they’re trusting me to watch you guys ‘til mom gets back home in the morning.”

Nothing more to be done, our temporary alliance disbands.  I follow my brother to his room.

As he climbs into his bed, I pat his shoulder and he looks back. “If you have to, tell him it was me who called,” I say. He hugs me briefly. Silently I hope that makes up for forcing him to be the one to call. For good measure, I tuck him in and start singing a lullaby. It’s a sentiment he’s too old for, but it’s a song I sing to myself when I can’t fall asleep. This is the only peace I can offer my brother.

“Do you remember when he punched the car window?” Little Brother asks before I turn to leave.

“Yeah.” I sit down next to him on the bed.

“What do you think he’ll break this time?” His tears reflect the moonlight coming through the blinds.

I don’t know what to tell him, don’t know how to explain why our dad does what he does. As long as I’ve been watching him, I’ve never found the answer, the cause. Shaking my head, I open my mouth to speak but can’t bring myself to make something up.

“Do you think it’ll be this?” From underneath his covers Little Brother pulls out his favorite dinosaur. Its jaw falls open, already broken from being crushed when it wasn’t put away in time.

“No.” I’m a little relieved that was what he was concerned about. “No, that will be safe, just keep it tucked in here.” I tug the blanket up over his head. He yanks it down and sticks his tongue out at me.

The walk back to my room is the scariest part of the night. Jumping at every scrape, every flutter, I’m half convinced our dad never really left and he’s still outside waiting for me to make a mistake.

By the time I reach my room, beads of sweat slide down my face. I change my clothes and curl into a ball in the center of my bed, not taking my eyes off my door.

The next morning, our mom is home and we tell her what happened. The sorrow in her gaze brings a pang of guilt to my stomach.

“We are going to be okay,” she says, smiling at all of us. “You did the right thing.”

“He’s going to be mad.” Little Brother buries his face in our mother’s scrubs.

“They caught him in the act this time, he knows he’s in trouble.” Our mom lets out a heavy sigh. Through her exhaustion she adds, “But he’ll be home soon.”