"Is he dead,Mama?" My little sister asked, surprisingly calm to be just 10 years old.

I looked at my stepfather laid out cold on the floor of the "big room" of our family's penthouse. There was no blood coming from his head and I figured he only dazed at most.

Mama still held the cast iron skillet she had whacked him over the head with. She seemed to be frozen like she couldn't believe what she had done. For almost 14 years she had put up with man. Now his startling bright blue eyes were closed, lips together over near perfect white teeth. He looked dead.

"Abba?" My little brother said without really meaning to call him father. He wasn't exactly nice to the eleven year old boy, so I didn't blame him for not pitying the fool.

Mama recovered when she heard that. She dropped the skillet.

It clattered to the floor and scared my jumpy sister. She was always on the watch for a bad situation, so she could bolt for relative safety. There really weren't any safe havens in our household

Mama as if in a trance went to the door and opened it.

"Bring yo' asses on here!" She ordered.

I could hardly believe it. We were leaving! After 14 years of captivity, we were getting the Hell out of there. Our day of liberation had finally arrived.

I was so caught up in my elation that I did't realize my little brother and sister had already scampered out the door without either coat or even shoes. Mama didn't have her purse. This was serious and very real.

I sprinted out the door,too.

It was a cold night outside, but we had to go it on foot.

Go where?

To the American Embassy of course!

Mama had never given up her American Citizenship despite my stepfather's insistent urging.

We got plenty of cross eyed stares and whispers, but we kept on trekking. Neither of my younger siblings complained. They padded along the icy streets without a word or even slipping on the slick surface. It was like they sensed the gravity of the situation.

It was about six city blocks to the embassy.

We walked all but the last two.

When we got about two blocks away, Mama out of the blue said, "Run,babies,run!"

So we three children took off running.

Mama, voluptuous after so many years of letting herself go, quickly fell behind. I stopped, but she commanded me to run again and without looking back.

I didn't want to leave my mother behind and didn't shoot off like she wanted me to.

My little brother and sister were long gone, too far ahead to be seen.

Mama and me arrived at the gate to the embassy at the same time. I started pounding right away and when a woman appeared I told her we were fleeing my abusive stepfather and included that my mother was an American. She let us in.

"Where are my younger children?" Mama huffed and puffed.

"What children?" The lady asked re-locking the gate. "There were no other children before you and your daughter, ma'am."

I instantly knew that they had not made it and I knew that they wouldn't be coming back to America with us.

Mama looked like she wanted to run back out the gate, but it was already locked and we had already told our story and brought in outsiders.

We had not choice except to follow the woman inside the building and pray for the best.