chapter two

All what i want is a normal life ...

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i remember when my mother was wearing a square-necked dress, her head bare, would chatter companionably to my grandmother, who, always, regardless of the weather, hid her still red-gold hair under a hat. Ladies of a similar age, dressed in printed dresses topped by straw boaters or pillboxes, would greet her with smiles, remark how much I was growing and comment on the weather, a subject which, to my child's ears, grown-ups always showed an inordinate interest in.

Another special outing was when we visited Mrs Anna, an old school friend of my grandmother's who, to my delight, made homemade sweets in her tiny black and white cottage. Herpostage-stamp-sized garden was filled with deep raspberry pink hydrangeas, whose big lacy heads hung over the low brick wall and nodded in the breeze. To my fascination two plump gnomes satunderneath one bush, fishing rods in their hands. Perhaps it was Mrs Anna who sowed the seeds of my mother's affection for these garden ornaments in later life.My grandmother would knock the freshly polished knocker against the black door and Mrs Anna , wrapped in a voluminous apron, would open it, releasing the warm scent from the bubbling concoction, which later would become the sweets I loved.Taking me into her kitchen she would show me how they were made. Fat strips of the sugary smelling black and white mixture were placed over a hook by the door, then squeezed and pulled until they trebled in length. Only when their length had increased to Mrs Anna satisfaction were they taken down, some to be cut into small squares, others into larger pieces which were rolled into humbugs.Engrossed, I would watch, my cheeks bulging with some of her samples, as I rolled the one she had told me I could 'test' around my tongue. When the last drop of the sugary syrup had slid down my throat I would play the same game we played every time.'Mrs Anna, what are little girls made of?'I never grew tired of her reply.'Why Caroline, how many times do I have to tell you? Sugar and spice, of course, and all things nice!'I would giggle happily and she would reward me with another sweet.

Happy days , now none of these days is present except in our memories and dreams ,I don't know why this memory comes to my mind every day like a nightmare , My happiness became impossible and my father was in my life , I no longer feel the beating or anything else he did to me .

Sunday, the fourteenth of October, specifically at four in the afternoon, my father came and he was very drunk, I was encouraged for the first time and I tried to escape, but he caught me and tied me on my bed and sat for a full hour hitting me and after that he, he sat for about three hours raping me .

I did not feel anything for four hours and the short tape of my life I saw it all in front of me, I no longer knew why why he did this to me while I was his only daughter, this is the man I used to sleep in his arms reassured, when I wanted sweets I used to run to him and ask him and he used to bring it to me faster than The wind , he had turned into a filthy animal that doesn't know what to do.

Thursday, the twenty-second of October, I became pregnant at the age of ten, I could not bear anything, and I would not be able to have someone who would bear with me all this and was not guilty.

You, or should i call you dad or what? No matter, I just want to tell you that I feel that something is moving inside me , i have to go to the hospital now , And I lost consciousness .

He did a little good for me, by bringing for me the doctor. I was hoping to die at the time, but I did not.

What's the matter , doctor? My father asked him nervously.

I don't understand that, she's pregnant. Can you tell me how that happened if you know what happened to her? The doctor asked him

As usual, my father lied about the matter and said to the doctor: I do not know how I will tell you this, doctor, but my beloved daughter was assaulted about two weeks ago by unknown people when she left her alone at home.

Do you think that the child will survive?

What will he call me when I grow up?

Mom, sister, or what?

I wish a good and healthy life for me and my child, who I have not yet fostered.

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