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"When I was seven, my world shattered. My dad passed away in his sleep, the doctors called it Pulmonary Alveolar Proteinosis, or PAP. They said his lungs were suffocating under a buildup of protein, leading to respiratory failure.” I remember the stillness of that morning, the eerie quiet that followed his last breath, like it happened just yesterday and not years ago.
“Just a few months later, my mom followed him. The doctors said it was a heart attack, brought on by the unbearable stress of losing him. They explained how grief can be a silent killer, but I knew it was more than that. She died of a broken heart; her spirit crushed under the weight of her sorrow. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence, a constant reminder of the love we lost."
I pause, my eyes wet with unshed tears. “Talking about it now, it feels like I’m reliving those moments all over again,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “It’s like a wound that never fully heals, always there, just beneath the surface. I miss them every day, and sometimes the pain feels as fresh as it did back then. But sharing this, it also feels like I’m honoring their memory, keeping a part of them alive in my heart.” I take a deep breath wiping my eyes before continuing.
“I had no other family. Both sets of grandparents passed away before I was born, and my parents were only children. So, I was put into the system. I stayed at a group home for ten months before moving into my first foster home. Over the next five years, I was placed in four different homes. Nothing bad happened in those homes; they just couldn’t care for meanymore due to illness, or their biological families were growing and didn’t have room for me.”
I can only imagine what he must be thinking right now, especially since Atlas was born and raised in Riverside. I am hoping he does start looking at me with pity instead of love.
“Right before I turned thirteen, I was sent to live with the King family. I stayed with them until I was fifteen. The foster mother kicked me out because her son thought it was okay to kiss me. I punched him in the face and broke his nose, so now that too is in my record."
My voice wavered as I recount my past. “It was a tough time, bouncing from one place to another, never really feeling like I belonged anywhere. The Kings were supposed to be my safe haven, but that incident shattered any sense of security I had. I felt betrayed and alone, like I was being punished for standing up for myself. It’s a part of my past that still haunts me, but it’s also made me stronger. I learned to rely on myself and to fight for my own dignity.”
I paused to catch my breath, the weight of my past hanging in the air. When I looked at Atlas, I saw his smirk, but he remained completely silent, being the great listener he is. His eyes held a mix of empathy and admiration, making me feel seen and understood in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“After I was removed from the King’s home, I was sent to stay at the Harrington’s. David and Sonya were my foster parents from fifteen until seventeen. I had a brother and two sisters, Silas, Emerson, and Asia. The siblings that you will meet once we can all align our schedules. The four of us were really close, it was the first time in my life that I felt like I belonged. That was a great feeling to have, to belong, to feel like you were loved, and had a family. It was a great feeling.”
This next part was going to be rough to get through. I haven’t talked about any of this since Amara and I became bestfriends. I walk over to the wet bar and start to go for the wine, then change course to the whiskey. Yeah, wine is not going to cut it for this next part.
“On my sixteenth birthday the family treated me to a family dinner at the steak house in our town. I thought to myself, finally, I get to dosomethingon my birthday. When we got home from the restaurant, everyone went their own separate ways. Silas went to the basement to play video games and Asia and Emerson each went to their rooms. Sonya went up to her room to shower, leaving David and me in the living room.
He was sitting next to me and kept inching closer, when his hand hit my bare kneecap, I jumped and told him I was going to bed and thanked him for the birthday dinner. Just as I started up the stairs, he stopped me, wanting to know—wanting to know if, uh—”
I don’t know if I can do it. My heart is racing, pounding against my chest like it’s trying to break free. My body is covered in a sheen of sweat, and my chest feels so tight, like someone has placed a thousand-pound weight on it.
You are okay. You are safe.I tell myself as I try to steady my breathing.
Suddenly, I feel a warm palm running soothing circles on my back, and I hear the deep timbre of his voice in my ear, telling me, “You’re okay, I got you.” I startle, not realizing he understands how hard this is for me. He is now kneeling in front of me, sliding warm hands on each of my thighs. Repeating that he has me, and I’m okay. Atlas keeps talking in low tones, rubbing my upper thighs. His pressure is perfect—strong, soothing, making me feel protected, loved.
My heart is still racing, but I have my mind under control. I tell myself over and over again,I’m okay. I can get through this. I am okay.
“Indy, darlin’, you don’t have to finish telling me. I can probably figure out the rest if you don’t want to go back there.”
I know I need to get it all out. If I don’t tell him now, I may never tell him, and I don’t want our relationship to have any secrets or lies. So, I take another deep breath and continue my story.
“It’s okay. I’m okay, I promise. It’s been a while since I have talked about all this, but I need to get through this. I want you to know everything there is to know about me. Good, bad, and horrific.” I see the emotions in his eyes, fear, that he doesn’t want me to continue, but then a glimpse of pride, for me wanting to continue. Seeing the look of pride in his eyes gives me the courage to move on.
“When I got to the bottom step, he stopped me and asked if I was wearing a nightgown to bed that night. I just shrugged my shoulders and made my way to my room. It was such an odd question, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of confusion. Why would he ask that? But I quickly brushed it off, deciding it wasn’t worth overthinking. As I walked to my room, I couldn’t help but think it was strange, but I chose to disregard it anyway.
“I don’t know what time I fell asleep I just know that it was not long after I went to my room. At exactly 1:12 a.m., I felt the presence of someone next to me, David had lifted my shirt and was fondling my breasts. I was terrified, frozen, not knowing what to do, because my voice did not seem to work. I got the courage to roll onto my stomach, a moment later, my door opened and closed, and I was alone again.”
I explain to Atlas that the following day, he acted as if nothing had happened. So, I did the same. I was too scared to say anything to anyone. When you’ve been in foster care as long as I have, you know that the slightest upset can get you kicked out, forcing you to start all over with a new family. The constant fear of rejection and the need to keep everything inside wassuffocating. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, always afraid of making a wrong move.
“The fondling went on for about three months, after that he had escalated from my breasts, to trying to put his hand down my pants and touch me where at that time no one had ever touched me before. I always moved when he got near my waistline, terrified of what he was going to do.”
I took another deep breath to finish the story, not realizing Atlas had grabbed my hand. His thumb rubbed across the top of my hand in a soothing way. The anger that had been on his face moments ago had turned into fear. Fear for the child I was and the torment I had endured.
As I continued, I could see the pain in Atlas’s eyes. He wanted to do something to make it better, but he couldn’t. The helplessness in his gaze mirrored the helplessness I had felt for so long. It was a silent understanding between us, a shared grief for the innocence lost and the scars that remained.
“This went on for a year, the touching. On my seventeenth birthday, everyone was out with other people getting ready for Christmas. My birthday is December 17, not a good month to have a birthday,” I laugh trying to make light of this entire heavy conversation.
“Silas was having a Christmas dinner with his girlfriend's family, the girls and Sonya were finishing up some last-minute Christmas shopping, and David was working late. I was home alone; it wasn’t until around eleven that night that I heard the door open. I thought it was Silas, or even the girls returning home from their shopping trip, it wasn’t any of them.
“I hit the bottom step and came face to face with David. I asked where Sonya and the girls were and he said they were staying in the city, they lost track of time and Sonya didn’t want to drive this late at night. I played it off, pretending it didn’t phase me that we were the only two people in this house.I knew Silas wouldn’t be home until morning, his girlfriend's grandparents, where they had Christmas dinner, was three hours from there.
“I told him to have a good night and that I was going to bed. All he said was good night. When I got to my room, I locked the door, hoping that would keep him out, it didn’t. He got the door open, raped me, told me if I told anyone about this affair, he would have me sent away and I would never see my siblings again. All I could do is stare at the clock on the nightstand with tears running down my face, glowing 11:11 p.m., listening to him grunt and growl and curse.”
I stop momentarily to take another deep breath. Telling Atlas this feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Even though, I have tears falling from my eyes, I am glad I am telling him.
