Bringing a gun into the house changes it; that’s the truth. It’s not as if it was much of a gun, just an old Spanish automatic called a Ruby. Piece of junk, but cheap on the street. I never knew my dad to be scared of anything but he was scared now. Really scared.
Before, when he hit my mother, we cowered in a corner of the kitchen, my sister and me. He’d look at us and sneer. You’re next, was the implied threat and most times it was the reality too. Now it was different. I’d brought a gun into the house, and it changed everything.
Lots of words to spare.