“I used to be beautiful, Samuel… but you ruined me. I should’ve swallowed when I had the damn chance.”

Sam heard those words every other day, never fully understanding the full gravity they held. His mother’s tone was scathing, almost hateful—but also sad, in a regretful way. Those were the words that pushed him to obey his mother without question, especially since if he didn’t, he’d get deeper cuts and darker bruises.

When his father left in the middle of the night, he was confused, as any four year old would be. As the weeks went by, Sam started asking his mother questions. None meant to hurt, none meant to open wounds—just questions from a toddler who wanted to know when his dad was coming back. But every attempt at getting closer to the truth was shut down by his mother with either a slap or a screaming lecture.

His mother’s spiral into alcoholism was fast and destructive. She got fired after two months of showing up to work hammered, missed three months worth of rent and had dented her car getting into three hit and runs. She could hardly afford to take care of herself, let alone a child. Therefore, Sam had to do it himself.