When I was around 4 or 5 I was raped by a grown man who was a friend of the family. We lived in a big house that was also a furniture store below, so my mother was very busy. My father lived somewhere else because they were divorced.
After my mom would give me a bath (I remember a lot even though I was so young). She would put me in a back room with just a tiny pink robe. He would sneak in and do things to me. He would stick objects inside me, and this happened for over a year or more.
When I finally told my mother she did nothing. Many years later I found out that my mother’s father and her brothers use to sneak into her room and rape her. I was feeling sick. I think that’s why she never did anything because to her it was normal. That thought is almost inconceivable. I’ve been raped again over the years, but my childhood was the worst one.