Every Charge

Every Charge, Every Scar I was seven. Small hands. Quiet heart. He tore my world... and called it love. I learned to smile through the silence, to hide the hurt where no one sees but years later, his confessions found me. Found the child I used to be. Sexual Abuse in the First Degree that’s the line where he stole the light from me. Sodomy in the Second Degree ten counts... ten shadows that still breathe inside of me. Rape in the Second, Rape in the Third, each charge another unheard word. Sodomy in the Third Degree thirty scars that shaped the woman I’d be. Use of a Minor in a Performance. Just one count, but a thousand nights I couldn’t recount. He confessed it all in a cruiser’s backseat, pills in his veins, truth spilling like poison rain. Seven hours he held that line, then crumbled under what was mine. I never took the stand. Didn’t need to. His voice…became my testimony. Every charge he named was another piece of me, finally set free. Now I’m a mother. Hands still shaking, heart still brave. I guard her laughter like it’s sacred, teach her “safe” and “love” and “stay.” But trust? Trust is a slow rebuild. A house I’m still learning to live in. Some nights, I still hear echoes but now, I answer back. Because I survived. Because I rose. Because he confessed and I chose to live. So read those charges, line by line. They once broke me... but they don’t define. I am not his crime. I am not his sin. I am the woman who refuses to let him win. Every charge. Every scar. Still here. Still me. Still healing. Still free.