After the night my momma was killed I found the shotgun shell, the shotgun, and daddy's wedding band. He would soon rid of it all and there is nothing I could do about it.

Living with my daddy was like living with a child, a drunken child. When I came home from school I would have to clean up his messes and get him another bottle of liquor. Sometimes he would vomit on the floor and leave it until I got home, other times he would pass out on the ground and I would have to carry him to his room. Every time I walk in there I see my momma again; slumped over on the floor.
If I didn't come home in the afternoon he would beat me until he thought I'd gotten the punishment I deserved. One night I had decided that I was going to leave and never come back, while I was on my way out the door he grabbed me. That was the worst beating I had ever received. He left me locked in my room for two days. "You think that hurt? Pull that again and you will wish you were dead." He told me.
When I returned to school the following week everyone asked where I was, I had to lie to their faces. They couldn't know.

It felt like there was no escape. He didn't know, but I really did want to die. I had no worth. I was just a maid and a punching bag. The only way out was to get him locked up.