She says once you’re eighteen you would find out your true identity. ‘Your mother didn't want you to find out the truth until you were eighteen. ‘No! That's not true! Mum would never keep something like that from me!’ I yell while sobbing. I loved your mother so much I was willing to pretend to be your father!’ ‘Oh Astrid, you’re no daughter of mine! You never were: your mother told me your real father was killed when she was pregnant with you. He looks at me with hatred in his eyes, before his expression changes.
We stare at eachother with cold consternation. ‘Please Dad! You know it was an accident. ‘YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE YOU KILLED YOUR MOTHER!’ He shouts.
‘Please Dad! Stop this, stop hurting me!’ I beg. Striking my face, he splits my lip, and bruises my eye after striking me again. Tears roll down my cheeks as my father holds me against my bedroom wall by my hair.
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