She learned suffering before she learned language
The sound of her father's footsteps was enough to rearrange her breathing. Heavy. Uneven. Angry. When his shoes scraped against the doorway, her stomach tightened the way it always did....like her body knew something bad was about to happen before her mind caught up.
That evening, her mother was late.
Not late from work...she didn't work. She was late from exhaustion
The house smelled unfinished. No food on the stove. The floor still dusty. Her grandmother's medicine bottles were scattered on the small table because her mother had spent the day wiping vomit from an old woman's mouth, washing sheets soaked with sickness, holding a body that was slowly giving up
The door slammed.
Her father stood there, shoulders stiff, eyes already searching for something to hate.
"What is this?" he asked.
No answer came fast enough.
Her mother wiped her hands on her skirt and tried to explain. She spoke softly, carefully, like every word was glass.
"Your mother was ill today. I "
The slap came first.
It was loud. Sharp. The kind of sound that didn't belong in a home.
Her mother stumbled, catching herself on the wall. Her father didn't pause. His hand rose again. And again. Each time harder. Each time louder.
The little girl froze.
She stood near the doorway, clutching the hem of her dress, watching her mother fold into herself like paper being crushed.
"I work all day," her father shouted. "And this is what I come home to?"
Her mother cried quietly, apologizing, apologizing for things that were never her fault.
The girl moved without thinking.
"Please," she whispered.
Her father turned.
That was when she learned that love did not protect you.
He shoved her aside like she was furniture. She hit the floor, her elbow burning, her head ringing. No one helped her up.
She stayed there, small and shaking, watching the only person who loved her be destroyed in front of her.
That night, she learned something important:
Pain was louder than innocence.
The abuse became routine.
Some days it was shouting. Some days it was fists. Some days it was worse because it was quiet...because quiet meant her father was thinking.
Her mother walked differently now. Slower. Bent. As if she was trying to make herself smaller so she wouldn't be noticed.
And the girl...she learned how to disappear.
She learned how to clean without making noise. How to eat without chewing loudly. How to breathe shallowly so no one remembered she existed.
But someone did notice her.
The Betrayal
He was her father's friend.
He laughed loudly. He brought gifts. He smelled like cigarettes and false kindness. Her father trusted him completely.
That was why no one watched.
The first time, she didn't understand what was happening. She only knew it felt wrong. That her body was not hers anymore. That fear wrapped around her throat and refused to let her scream.
She learned to stay still.
She learned that stillness ended things faster.
When it was over, she washed her hands until they were red, until they burned, until she thought she could scrub the feeling off her skin.
She couldn't.
Days passed. Weeks. The weight inside her chest grew heavier.
One night, she told her father.
Her voice shook. Her hands shook. She still believed....somehow that truth would save her.
Her father didn't hesitate.
The slap knocked her sideways.
"You're a liar just like your mother ," he said.
Then came the beating.
Not because she was hurt ..but because she had spoken.
She learned that night that truth could be dangerous.
Her father trusted his friend more than his own child.
Her mother noticed the change.
Mothers always do.
One night, while her father slept, her mother packed a small bag. Just clothes. Just documents. Just hope.
They left quietly.
For a few hours, the world felt different. Lighter. Like maybe God had finally looked their way.
But freedom was short-lived.
Her father found them.
The beating that followed was not anger..it was punishment.
Her mother's body couldn't keep up with the blows. She collapsed. Blood. Screaming. Neighbors watching but not intervening.
The girl screamed until her voice broke.
Her mother survived...but barely.
After the Hospital
When her mother came home, she was no longer the same.
She couldn't stand for long. She couldn't clean. She couldn't cook. She lay in bed, sick, bruised, exhausted.
Her father was disgusted.
"What use are you now?" he asked.
And he beat her again.
As if illness was a crime.
As if survival was laziness.
The girl watched, helpless, learning that love was something that got punished.
What Childhood Taught Her
She learned that existing was dangerous.
That being born was a mistake.
That love was conditional, temporary, and painful.
She did not choose this life.
But it was chosen for her.
But time doesn't stop for anyone...life went on, because her mom could no longer take care of the family she had to step up and care for the grandma and the mom and her abusive father ..she was just a 9 year old girl .the abused continued ..the rape continued..and finally she became a teenager ....