There is a man who pretended to be my father. He was tall, large and I never trusted him, something was always off. I made excuses to not be around him and made my dislike of him clear.

We lived in a unit complex. My mother, him, his housemate and I. I was best friends with the little girl next door and would spend hours there.

He was with my mum when I was 6 and left when I was 8. It was a messy breakup. He attempted to kill her. I was young and at my neighbour's apartment. I assume they knew something was going to happen, perhaps he told them what he was planning.

I remember looking out the window and seeing my mum being dragged back into the house by her hair kicking and screaming. I ran into the house. At that point, my sisters had arrived, one had a metal baseball bat and the other a large fry pan. Funny right? They scared him off while his housemate helped stop the bleeding. I was petrified.

I got sent back over to the neighbours and my mum took me home, my aunt's house where we lived for until we thought it was safe. She wore a pair of sunglasses, took them off to hug me and tried to hide her black eyes.

My mother refused to press charges. She didn't think the police would believe her, she didn't want to relive it, she just wanted to forget.

We live in the area where it happened now. Occasionally I see him, the man who tried to kill my mom, and I'm rendered useless, paralysed and struck with the same fear a child has when left alone in the dark.

So, there is a man and he is what scares me most about this world. He is the reason I don't travel alone and he is the reason my heart stops every time I see a blue pick up truck.