My father was one of the only adult figures in my life at the time, I learned to get used to his abuse. I knew it wasn’t the right thing. One day, I built up the courage to try to tell my auntie. I told her that I hated him. Instead of looking into why I said that, I heard her say “he is your father and it doesn’t matter what he does, you shouldn’t hate him.” After that, I gave up all hope of trying to tell anyone at the time because I was afraid that no one would understand me or believe me. It turned out to be true because, to this day, the family on my father’s side continues to believe that my mom put the idea in my head that he molested me and thinks she is evil.