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I can’t even remember when it first started; I just silently accepted it as part of life. I simply endured it, thinking I deserved it. But then she came along, and she didn’t deserve it. It’s not that she was perfect, because she certainly wasn’t. But she was different.

So I tried to stop them. It got me punished, but I didn’t care. It meant they weren’t hurting her. She was brave, though, when I couldn’t stop them. She didn’t cry in front of them, she didn’t try to stop them either, and just let them hurt her. And that hurt me, because I knew her better then that. I’d seen her laughing and playing. I’d seen her happy, and excited, and angry. I’d even seen her sad.

I’d seen her try to stop them from hurting me. I tried to tell her to stop, that I was fine, to let them. But she wouldn’t listen, and kept trying. It was heart-breaking to see the results of her efforts.

And I’d seen her cry. She didn’t mean to be found, but I discovered her hiding place. She didn’t explain, but I could see the cause of her tears on her cheek and on her arms. And on that day, right there, I swore that I would get her out of there one day.

No matter what the cost.