I Can't.

I grew up hearing raised voices. It was the signal for me to try to distract my sister and my younger brothers. To try and pretend it wasn't happening.
Raised voices always meant a fight. Once upon a time, it was my mother and her boyfriend. Then it used to be me.

Nowadays, well, I expect every argument to turn to blows. It seemed to me that way, and nothing's really changed for me to come out of that viewpoint.

When my Gran and Dad argue, it's like I'm ten years old again. I feel helpless and scared. I'm standing in the middle of it all, and I can't do a thing.