Chapter 28: Chapter 28

This is my story, I had lived in foster homes most of my life from when I was an infant. My mom didn't want me, because she knew not who my dad was. She slept with different men, and I knew not why, she terminated not the pregnancy.

I remember every time she came to see me in the foster care home. They told me when I was three my mom begged a cousin of hers to adopt me, but at short-notice we moved to San Diego.

I was with mom till age 10 and then one night she returned home with a fiancé. And it seemed like they had had a fight before they got home, but tried to act all was well in my presence.

Seeing them, I rushed to hug the pair before they went up to their room. To cut my story short, they continued their fight and the next thing I heard was my mom's scream, I ran up and found him bashing her head into the wall, seeing me he stopped and mom with the little last strength in her told me to run and I did.

So I ran not looking back. For safety I went to the police station, reported the incident, and made a statement, but the assailant had disappeared before the police got to our house. Again I was taken back to the foster home since nobody in the family wanted to take care of me.

From there I stayed in two foster homes, but I ran away often, because I disliked what I saw. Some of the men were pedophiles. The last foster care home I stayed was a good home. I loved them so much, it was easy to open up and tell them what I went through.

Moving on wasn't that bad, though I was never a happy child. The unhappiness caused through what I experienced lingered until my nineteenth birthday.

From nowhere I started getting unknown calls, gifts and texts and they later became threats. Realizing from where the messages came from, I started to live in fear, as the messages came from my late mother's fiancé.

The bastard kidnapped me few months after when I turned nineteen, and became his object of sexual urges and a prisoner.

My foster family helped in tracing me for rescue. Unfortunately for the kidnapper, he knew not the police had linked their phone with mine, so it was easy for the police to track him and found me three weeks later.

The police arrested him, and the court gave him a twenty-year sentence. Whilst I lived in a melancholic state, unable to recover from those three weeks of torture I sometimes felt like dying, as I wanted not to be a burden to anyone else or myself.

EMILIA CASTRO SUFFERS CLINICAL DEPRESSION (battled with emotional trauma and died due to heart failure). Patrick gave the book to Ivan.