Oftentimes, there are so many questions I would like to ask, like:
Why does my father hate my mother so much that he wanted to destroy our love for her?
Why did he dismiss the bruises he put on my body?
Couldn’t he see that he was breaking my heart?
Why didn’t he ever realize that something was terribly wrong?
Did he ever stop to think that his vengeance towards my mom put me in the hands of molesters?
Why did my grandmother tell me it was my fault?
Why didn’t she tell someone?
When they found out my cousin had been molested, why didn’t someone tell me?
Why didn’t her father press charges?
Does my cousin feel the way I do?
Yet, my questions go unanswered and silence is all that remains.