Admitting Wrongs

You ask me why I'm afraid to admit my faults or confess when I've done something wrong. I say I don't know. But I remember those days when you were a tempest, when you screamed and shouted, when you tried to throw saucepans at dad when he stepped out of line, when you used to threaten him with worse, those days when I was afraid of you and how far you would go. And I know you have calmed, in the years since. But I always worry those old storms will return, and swallow me whole. So I say nothing.