He was a fine man. A husband and father. Church elder. Hard worker. Helpful neighbor. Responsible. Home well-kempt. Never said an unkind word. Always at service. Dressed for the occasion. Saved his money. She was a child. Dirty. Fat. Awkward. Bullied. Afraid. Wet the bed. Despised. Labeled crazy. Beaten by her father. Hated by her mother. No one believed when I was three, he started molesting me.
Dogpaddling Through Life 
Thanks for sharing your pain. I totally understand. Please take care of yourself.
I am. Telling my story both in counseling and through my art helps me heal.
That is awful. Where I grew up, weekly attendance at church in Sunday best clothes was enough to make a “good” person with no questions asked. 😦
In some parts that’s still true.
A familiar story of the foster girls I had.
I hate it. I’m glad they landed with you where they could be supported and cared for.
Thank you. I did the best I could to give them security and support while they were with me.
And I’m so glad you did.
I’m so very sorry.
Thank you.