Prologue
My agony increased as the hours drew on. The contractions coming at closer and closer intervals, fear hurtling through my veins as I attempted to bring a life into the world. The cold concrete amplified the discomfort and the thought of doing this on my own multiplied my fear by ten. A thirteen-year-old child should never have to survive this.
Four torturous hours came to an end as I met my crying daughter for the first time. Wrapping the tiny form in a thick towel, tears floated down my cheeks as I kissed my daughter’s forehead. Using all the knowledge I had ever acquired of labour, I began to breast feed my slumbering child. I ignored the mess I had created, and simply prayed that my body would heal normally and Paisley was as healthy as she seemed.
No one would ever fill the gaping hole my parents had left in me at their sudden deaths. Or the hours of rape I had endured from my step-father as soon as adoption had gone through and he could do so unmonitored. But the sweet sleeping babe, a product of the beast who called himself my guardian, was an ointment upon my wounds. Purpose, propelled my a mother’s love, vowed to keep my daughter safe at all costs.
