In this photo I smiled in the arms of my stepfather… For years, my mother believed that she loved me like her own daughter, but I did not know that, behind closed doors, those same hands subjected me to such cruel abuse that their consequences would accompany me throughout my life

Sometimes they become overly obedient.

I was one of those girls.

One day, my teacher, Mrs. Johnson, noticed that I had changed a lot.

I didn’t play with my friends during recess anymore.

I was desperately trying never to get in trouble.

If a teacher lifted his voice a little, my body would immediately tighten.

One day, after school, Mrs. Johnson asked me to stay.

“Emily, is everything okay at home?”

I immediately replied:

“Yes.

He watched me for a few seconds.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

That same night Mark told me they had called from school.

I didn’t know what he had been asked. I just remember him sitting by the kitchen table and looking at me.

You’re not going to tell people stories about us  family.

I didn’t say anything.

“It’s better to stay that way.

That night, for the first time, I started writing on small pieces of paper what was happening.

The date.

The time.

What he had said.

What I had done.

Then I hid the papers behind a piece of furniture in my room.

I didn’t know exactly why he did it.

Probably because a small part of me still believed that someday someone would believe me.

I was thirteen when it all finally started to come out.

That day my mother had to return from work at seven.

Mark thought we’d be alone until then.

I had taken a bad note at school.