I would have pawned my children off as babies onto some O+, overgrown, ogre that would treat them poorly and force them to call him “dad”. Then, I would just live life in the shadows, coming around occasionally to provide spit in a dna test tube for the ogre, so that my children would be forced to continue the facade of calling that man “dad”. Why not? It’s cheaper. I wouldn’t need to pay a dime in child support, and the ogre would have children to use and abuse, right? It gets better, I would use my free time to become a boss in different places of employment that my kids would most likely never explore for job opportunities. This would help me get to know people in their generation. I could send people that worked for me to date my children. For example, if I managed Guitar Center, I could send employees around my daughter’s age to date her, just before I play the biggest gang hit on her: Children of her own. Oh, but it gets better, the guys I send her way are just stooges. She’d probably marry one of them and he could be forced to open the door as she is sleeping, to let her distant cousin rape her in her sleep. It’s all due to blood type compatibility, of course. My daughter would be Rh-, and unable to make babies with the stooges, anyway, so why not use this as a way to help plan her family for her? If she speaks out about it, I can just have her labeled as “crazy” to protect her cousin, because, after all, he’s family! He’s a boy. She’s just some girl. Oh, and speaking of which, who cares if all of this ruins her career and makes the community turn her into a laughing stock. She’s a girl. I’m sure we can just stick her with the Ogre again, so she has a place to live when the separation leads to her losing her home, vehicles, and job. We can’t risk her telling all of this to her children, so the children can just go to the Ogre’s wife (my daughter’s mother figure). We’ll just tell everyone that she and the ogre became divorced and that they live in separate homes now. No one needs to know that the children are being kept from their mom to prevent her from telling them that she was raped. If people start to believe my daughter, we’ll just cover up all of her academic and professional achievements, and tell the public that she is stupid, and crazy. If that doesn’t work, we’ll just have the Ogre lose his temper and beat her to death, like he did to the first mother figure, I hired. They go through so many of them! It’s a good thing they live in a rural area, with plenty of land to hide the bodies. I’ll make sure to tell law enforcement that she’s crazy so they won’t investigate any claims of those bodies, in case my little girl starts to remember all of that. By the time anyone finds the bodies, I’ll be dead, and if I’m not, it all leads back to the Ogre anyway, unless they do dna to determine why my daughter was living with two distant relatives, throughout childhood, instead of her biological parents.

God forbid she shaves her head, though. All of those skull fractures from the Oaf I hired will probably start to show. Plus, if she shaves her head, she’ll look like me and perhaps force me to retire from my cushy job as an elementary school principal. God forbid she becomes a teacher and finds herself looking for a job at my site. The minute people realize she looks like me, I’ll have her demoted to an area where no one sees her, or have her fired.

…

But wait, I realize. I’m the mom of my own children. I’m not my dad. This hell is my reality, and not theirs. I would never do to them what my biological dad has done to me. By the way, how does a woman who has been abstaining from sex, contract a bacterial infection that is typically caused by sex, and why does this upset the Ogre? Maybe because he’s the only person living here with her, and she feels the need to tape her door shut at night, or sleep beside a softball bat beside the bed. Why is that? Because the past 35 years as his “daughter” haven’t been so kind.

Go ahead and downvote me. I’m used to it. No one is going to believe any part of my childhood memories, until this man is dead and I demand dna tests be done. They will need to take from his corpse, before I can finally have a professional dna test conducted. Either that will happen, or someone will dig up the apricot tree and find my female relative’s body under it. Guess who isn’t crazy when someone finds that skeleton? A two year old didn’t kill and bury her mother figure in 1990. I mentioned that tonight, and someone stopped yelling at me. When he goes on vacation, I’m finding a shovel and exhuming the body. I hate hard pan soil so much. It’s going to take me days, but that’s part of the proof I have that I remember what happened.

I had to lie to a hospital today and tell them “yeah, sure, I feel safe at home!” Why is that, because I needed medical attention. Guess who is waiting on antibiotics now? Yeah, I feel safe, huh?!?\s