I was young and innocent. My understanding of the world was a world of love and hope. That's what the pretty picture books taught me. I quickly realized that my world that was just in my head to protect me from what was slowly coming my way.
I didn't think that you would ever do this to me. I didn't think that you would touch me the way you did. I never knew your hands could do such things. I didn't think it was possible to do that to your own like that. To your blood. To your daughter.
All I can remember is the ceiling but the feeling is indescribable. As much as I want to keep going with my life. I can't with the emotional pain and when it first happened, I couldn't deal with the physical pain either.
Now, I'm writing 18 years later and not as a clueless 6 year old. You brought me pain, sorrow and grief for the little girl who died in her bed at 2 am. I'm writing to you as a grown woman. As an independent woman. As a person who doesn't want to live in pain, sorrow and grief. I forgive you, not because I forgot what had happened, believe me I remember but because in order for me to excel in my future goals, dreams and desires, I have to let go of my pasts scars and broken parts.