I’m still afraid of what happened when I became a mother at sixteen.My name is Emily, and I’m 24 years old right now. In my opinion, this is a true story that is terrible and incredibly tragic. For years, I kept it a secret from everyone save my closest friends and therapist.
But I’ve made the decision to come forward now and tell what happened to me when I was most insecure. This is a story of love, betrayal, and dread. and ultimately, survival.
When I was thirteen, my mother got married again. Her new husband was named Daniel. He appeared to be a successful, self-assured man since he was tall, clean-shaven, had just the right amount of stubble, and was dressed nicely.
He owned a construction company, lived in a large two-story home, and drove a fine BMW. A month after the wedding, we moved into his home.
At first, he was kind, even affectionate. He bought me a new smartphone, new clothes, and took me to the theater. But everything changed when he accepted that he was now the “head of the family” and had control over us.
He started acting oddly while Mom wasn’t around. It began as “accidental” touches and developed into drawn-out, uncomfortable glances. Then something happened, which I still find hard to say out loud.
I was fourteen when it happened for the first time. I remember that day quite well. My mother was out on business for three days.
Daniel suggested that we get together for something like a “father-daughter movie night.” He offered to watch a movie, eat popcorn, and share a blanket.
I was naive. Or just plain lonely. I wanted to believe everything was fine.
But before locking the door, he said:
— “You are so beautiful, Emily. You’re not a little girl anymore 
I remained quiet for a long time. That day altered every aspect of my life. I couldn’t shout because I was worried someone may hear. I couldn’t go away since he was in my way. Tell my mom? I was terrified. He said, “You’ll regret telling anyone.”
That was when my horror started.
At first, I didn’t get it. Then I realized that I was being mistreated by him. He came to my room a lot. I tried to stay away from him, locked myself in the bathroom, and stayed at friends’ houses. But nevertheless he always found a way. He went through my phone’s mail. I was alone, and I was afraid, especially for my mother.
He professed his affection for me. The fact that I was now his property was kept a secret. And I started to have faith in him.
When I was sixteen, I found out I was pregnant. I thought about obtaining an abortion, but I didn’t have the money or support. He was happy. “Now you’re all mine,” he said.
My mom realized something wasn’t quite right. I acted as though the man was a stranger. She didn’t trust me, even though she was crying. She couldn’t accept reality either.
The delivery was really challenging. My kid was admitted to intensive care after being born prematurely. I was exhausted and lonely. He went on, “We’ll call her Angelina.” Like an angel. We’ll be saved by her. I hated him.
Two years later, I had the courage to escape with my keys and my daughter. I made covert video recordings and turned them in to the police as an anonymous report. They arrested him. After the trial, he received a 12-year prison sentence.
My mom didn’t believe that I was real. “I made it all up and broke up the family,” she said. She disappeared without a word.
I started over. Free but isolated. I worked with abused teenagers after studying psychology. I listen because I know what it’s like to feel ignored at home.
If you are reading this, you are not alone. It’s okay to say “no.” You have the right to live without fear. There’s always a way out.
