Physically, yes. Night after night, he would return home, drunk and angry, demanding to know why I couldn't be like my brother. Why I was wasting my life with 'childish scribbles' instead of fighting for our country." Lucien's eyes darkened with the memory. "One night, the beating was particularly bad. I couldn't even stand afterward. My mother—bless her sweet soul—couldn't take it anymore. She tried to stop him."
Lucien's voice grew quieter. "In those days, women deferred to men, especially a man like my father. He turned on her, his rage finding a new target. My brother had just arrived home and tried to intervene. It was chaos. I think... perhaps it was the fact that his treasured son had raised hands against him, or maybe he had sobered up enough to realize what he was doing. I don't
