My head is in my hands, my hands over my ears. The slate tiles are cold as I sit tucked up into a defensive ball. I know there will be another hit soon.
The yelling is getting louder, about to reach it's peak. Another blow to the head. I'm knocked sideways into the bathroom cupboards.
I'm just praying for silence but all I can hear is my crying, whimpering. I feel so pathetic. And the yelling starts again.
I tried to lock the door. He broke through. There was nowhere to run to and nowhere I could even try to hide. A prisoner in my house.
All I can do at this moment is curl into a ball and try to get out of this as unscathed as possible. It doesn't always end well.
He sits in front of me and I open my eyes. He's still screaming, but I don't know what about anymore. He pulls my hands from my ears. I can hear my baby daughter crying in the next room.
"I said, go feed the baby! Can you even do that?" another blow to the head and then, finally, he leaves the room. I hear his footsteps down the hall. The front door opens and slams shut again.
His car starts. It drives away.
I rush to my little girl, only two months old and I cry with her. And I know I'll do this all again tomorrow because right now, this is normal.