"It will be okay, Ryan…"
The six-year-old Ryan looked up through tear-filled eyes.
His mother was crouched in front of him, trying to smile.
There were bruises across her face and neck. One side of her lip was split, and blood had dried beneath her nose. More marks covered her arms and legs, some already turning dark beneath her skin. Her clothes were torn in places, and every movement seemed to cause her pain.
She looked exhausted.
Afraid.
But she still forced a gentle expression onto her face for him.
Ryan knew she was lying.
She was not okay.
He had seen what happened.
He had watched his father hit her. Watched him shove her against the wall. Watched her fall and struggle to stand again. The few times Ryan had tried to intervene, his father had turned on him instead.
A slap.
A kick.
A fist that had sent him crashing into the floor.
Each time, fear had taken hold of him before he could do anything else.
Ryan was weak and small.
