"I was six when I learned that there are people who do not love children.
And I was seven when I stopped being a child."
Emily's room was full of stuffed animals. Every night she lined them up carefully—like she was tucking them in. She didn't want any of them to be alone. She had learned early that loneliness hurt.
Her mother moved through the house like a shadow—hurried, heavy-eyed. She rarely touched Emily. She rarely spoke softly. It was always, "Go to your room, Emily," and "Don't make noise." Her father… he was never there. Except when he was. And then Emily wanted to become invisible.
Once, she heard crying behind the door. Her mother. She wasn't sure. She never went close. She learned to keep distance from sounds—especially the ones that felt like pain.
Weekends were the hardest. That was when Uncle Mark came. He wasn't really an uncle. He was a friend of her mother's. He always carried a heavy smell—cigarette smoke, sweat, and something she could not name. Emily feared him. Her stomach twisted the moment she heard his voice.
"Hi there, little Emily… Do you remember me?"
His face smiled. His eyes didn't.
She learned to stay still. Not to speak. Not to appear. Not to confuse the adults. She kept mental notes of all the things she shouldn't do so they wouldn't get angry.
By seven, she knew something was wrong. She didn't know the word abuse. But she knew what it felt like to sleep with the light on, and to never dare say "no."
The first time Uncle Mark went into her room and didn't come out right away, something inside her cracked. She didn't cry. She didn't tell anyone. It was as if her voice had been buried under the rug along with everything else that shouldn't exist.
And her mother… never asked. Did she know? Maybe. Maybe she didn't.
Emily learned to live next to fear the way others lived next to a small dog—always there. It lay at the edge of everything. She slept with it at the foot of her bed. She watched its steps. She became its friend. Because she had to.
Back then, I didn't know I would survive.
Now I know I am alive.
And whoever tried to erase me—
They only gave me fire.