I’ll just give a summary of the early years and get more into the detail and feelings later. I’m certain there will be much reference back in time, in the story of all of my early and adult years.

My mother divorced when I was three and my younger brother was two. She used the excuse that she simply wanted us to all have the same last name. However, knowing her as I do, I think it was still too taboo to have children with a different last name than your own and she was ashamed of her own failures as a wife. Therefore, she convinced our father to terminate his parental rights and allow her second husband to adopt us.

This was not the end of our relationship with our natural father; only the end to the legal relationship. I’ll talk more about that at another time.

Anyway, her second husband, my new daddy, started sexually molesting me almost from the beginning. At least as far back as I can remember, up until the time they separated when I was 10.

I found out in later years that my mother knew he was a child molester. I’ve always felt she knew what he was doing with me as well. How could she not know?

I’ll leave it there for now.



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