My daughter saved my life. I have told many people my story, but very few know just how close I was to ending my own life…I was closer than I would like to admit when I first felt her move within me. After that moment, I just couldn't go through with it.
You see, my father was not exactly the kindest man. One day he threw hot grease at my face because he thought I burnt his food. But it went far beyond that. As my body began developing and even more so after my mother's supposed death, my punishment was to go to the homes of his friends and…entertain them (or their sons) for the night. When I became pregnant he blamed me. Loose was the kindest thing he called me.
Thankfully, he died before my daughter was born and Beau, who he had forced to leave, returned and we packed our belongings, getting as far away from the farm as we could. My little Callie was born on our way to Brooklyn. To this day I'm not sure how we ended up here in Brooklyn, but I am thankful that we did…and that we happened to meet up with the girl Beau later married and her adopted father. I don't even want to begin to think about what would have happened to us without them.
Mr. Cole, or Cap as we called him, took us in and gave us a chance to flourish. It was there that our mother was able to find us through a rather strange series of events. It was there at the house he simply gave to us after my mother's return, that I started on what has become my life's work.
Some friends in the neighborhood had rescued a young girl forced into prostitution by her father. But when she wouldn't eat or sleep, they didn't know what else to do, so I volunteered to take her for a while. It was slow going at first, but I understood what she was feeling…I had been there along with two of my sisters. The first thing she ate was my cookies, lots of them, but as long as she was eating I wasn't going to complain. Slowly, as she began to heal and trust us, she began to eat like a normal child and then slept through the night. It was when I first heard her laugh that I knew that I wanted to help others like her…like me.
On the day that I moved into the small house that my precious stepfather bought, my mother brought me something she had been saving for me for many years...the silver vanity set given to her by her parents. I remembered watching her brush her hair with the beautiful brush as a child. And I had even looked for it after my father claimed that she was dead, but assumed he had sold it. She had taken it with her when she ran from my father, wanting to save it for me. What had I done to deserve such a treasure?