At seven, I learned pain before words. I learned how screams fold inward when no one listens. My mother danced while danger breathed on my neck. I swallowed tears and learned silence was survival. Eight turned to nine to ten. I begged not to return to that house, begged to be believed. I was ignored, taught truth was imagination and pain was my fault. At thirty-five, the truth returned like impact. I was a baby, a little girl who should have been protected, not sacrificed to keep peace. The pain began at seven....