My mother was never allowed to wear short-sleeved dresses, open-necked blouses, or anything that exposed her shoulders or neck.
Even in the middle of summer, when the heat was unbearable, she always wore long sleeves.
Once, when I was twelve, I bought my mother a beautiful light-blue dress for her birthday.
She was so happy that she immediately tried it on.
But when my father came home and saw her, the smile disappeared from his face.
“Take that off immediately!”
My mother tried to protest.
“Robert, I’m only wearing it inside the house.”
My father raised his voice.
“I SAID TAKE IT OFF!”
My mother silently walked into the bedroom.
When she returned, she was wearing her usual long-sleeved dress, buttoned all the way up to her neck.
That was the first time I wondered whether my father was someone we should be afraid of.
Over the years, I began noticing even stranger things.
