When he wasn’t locking me in classrooms overnight, he was spreading vile rumors about me.
The worst was when he and a group of boys stripped me and took photos. My father had to call the police to break down the door and rescue me.
The incident was covered up, but from then on, I was terrified of him.
His torment lasted for over a year.
I was forced to transfer schools to escape his wrath, and only then did I begin to recover from the trauma.
Thinking about the humiliation I suffered in my past life, my eyes welled up with tears.
And the man sitting in front of me was the one responsible for it all.
He tapped his fingers lightly on the table and greeted me with a smirk, “Hey there, long time no see! Guess we’re meant to run into each other again.”
His disgusting voice sent chills down my spine.
The scene from the night of my death flashed through my mind.
At that time, I was three months pregnant, with my body covered in bruises from his relentless beatings.
I lay curled on the ground, pleading with him to stop:
“Gary, you can hurt me all you want, but even a beast wouldn’t harm its own child. The baby is innocent – how can you do this? Please, stop!”