Tabitha Rzeszutko
Stories (1/0)
Hurt. Abused. Broken.
It all started when I was in the third grade. My dad had a better job offer in a small town in the middle of nowhere. He always worked late or just never came home. That’s when it all started. The long, dark, scary nights. I came home from my first day in third grade at my new school. I was already friends with everyone. That night, I was told by my father’s ex-wife that I was a bad girl and I didn’t deserve anything but the scraps from dinner. She had moved my room to the cold, dark, lonely basement. She tied the door shut with rope so that I couldn’t get out and the cellar door had bricks on it. She’d call me up after everyone finished their dinner (dad wasn’t home) and told me to clean up. I remember time passed and if I was hungry, I had to eat a cold can of peas. I was so skinny, the only way my body knew to protect me was to grow hair. I got sent to school with only an apple and a quarter for milk everyday. I went to school and begged my classmates for just a little bit of food.
By Tabitha Rzeszutko7 years ago in Families