It isn’t the screaming or crying that shakes me awake. It isn’t the front door being ripped from its hinges or the shattering of the glass coffee table that she is thrown into. What pulls me from the deep recesses of my dream world is the feeling that I’m suffocating. A pressure across my face yanks me from my sleep, my body jumping in response and my eyes flying open.
“Shhhh!” Mila begs me. It’s her little hand that’s covering my mouth. Tears slip down her cheeks and snot runs from her nose. Her tiny frame is shaking inside the flannel nightgown she loves to wear this time of year.
“They’re in the house. They’re hurting Mom,” her young voice cracks. I can tell a sob is waiting to escape. I’m fully awake now, my body moving in sync with my heartbeats. Blood rushes to my ears while I tiptoe across the floor and carefully move my hand to nudge the door open farther. Mila’s hand snakes out, grabbing my arm painfully, as tears fall faster and faster down her face. “No!” She mouths in silence, but damn, the words echo loudly in my brain.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, my hand peeling her fingernails from my skin. I push the door open farther, but not far enough for the hinges to groan. Biting my lip, I turn my head and look out.
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