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My Father Molested Me for 10 Years

When I was 6 years old my bother began dating the man I have known as my father. You see, before then it was just me and mommy conquering the world, the two of us with our hands zipped into each others tight so no one could separate us. I began to notice that she was happier and leaving me at my brothers house more often and coming home later and later. I came home one day to find this stranger in my home with my mother on his lap and she declared to me this was going to be Daddy. Never having a father before I instantly became attached and invited him into our family. My mother would leave to go to work late at night, so I would sleep in her bed till my brother would come to pick me up. That night it was different. I crawled into mommy’s bed, trying to find refuge from the monsters in my head, instead the monster under my bed was slithering beneath the sheets. My Daddy held me down and began to touch me, his hair tangling in my hands as I laid still in the cotton sheets. I hoped my mother would find me. The next day when my dad went off to work, I ran to mommy with tears in my eyes and told her the reason why my legs were sore, that her boyfriend had touched me. She slapped me and called me a liar, saying I wanted to take her happiness away. I thought /I/ was her happiness. They got married two days before my 7th birthday. They forgot my birthday that year. My father molested me for the next 10 years when finally I had enough. I was 16 years old with am opinion now. On May 13th my father drove me to school and I looked to him and asked ‘Who gave you the right to touch me for 10 years?’ He looked at me with cold hazel eyes and stated ‘I never did such a thing, why would you say that you liar.’ I began to cry and believe that I had made it all up, but I knew deep down that he was the one at fault. I spent the school day believing I was wrong and that I was the one who needed to apologize. School day ended and I waited for the familiar black pick to take me home. An hour passed, maybe Daddy had a meeting. Two hours passed and all the students have left by now, maybe Daddy is meeting with his new boss. It’s 6:30 and my best friend offers me a ride home because now I’m worried that my father forgot me. We’re driving down the road when I call my mom, she answers and I all I can hear are sirens and her screaming saying that there’s blood everywhere. I hang up. I take a breath and call 911, telling them how there’s an emergency that my mother is crying. My mother is crying, help her. We get to my house and the police take me aside and tell me my father committed suicide on May 13th, 2014. Two weeks before school got out. One month before I went to WPI for college classes. 2 years before I graduated high school. I do not cry because I can’t. My father left me a text message, it reads: I’m sorry I hurt you for that I take my life I love love you. I didn’t receive it till he was dead. The next time I held my father he was confined in a box, for a second I mistook him for the cigarette ashes he used to smoke and maybe he was just outside watching the storm pass. My mom still cries not understanding why he’s gone. But I know. I know it’s because I confronted him. My father put a gun to his head and went out with a bang because he was afraid of what I knew. I’m afraid to tell my mom because how do you tell someone that the person they love is molesting their daughter?


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  • Franshesca Grant


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