night to find her nightgown bunched up around her chest. She was seven years old. She was scared and confused by what her so-called protector was doing. She pretended to still be asleep, hoping he would stop. Alessa didn’t know if what he was doing was right or wrong; all she knew was that it filled her with dread. Terror welled inside of her. She pretended to wake up and gathered the courage to look up at him with wide, terrified eyes.
“Just be quiet,” he rasped. “We don’t want anyone to hear us.” He placed his thick, wet mouth, still stinking of cigars, over Alessa’s to silence her.
Alessa was young but knew instinctively no one would believe her if she reported what her uncle had done to her.
That first night was the beginning of ongoing abuse and would change the foundation of Alessa’s life.
