I hate the way she yells my name, her heavy Korean accent slurring the English letters until nothing is left but a blur. My name echoes against the bare white walls of the apartment. Whenever she called my name, I knew trouble would follow.

“What?!” I bellow back, in a slightly annoyed voice.

I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth. In my mind, I saw the horror in her face at the thought of her daughter yelling back at her.

“Come here now!” is her only response.

Slowly, I walk down the narrow hallway toward the living room. There stands my siblings on the other side of the room. From their grim expressions, it didn’t look good. My eyes fall to my father sitting in the corner.

There I found nothing: no anger, sympathy or sadness. Just nothing. His blank expression caused tears to fill my eyes. I silently begged him to stop her, not to let her go through with it, but, like many times before, he stood back like a marble statue: cold and lifeless.