I was four years old. My mom had just tucked me in to bed. I remember her sweet smile as she planted a kiss on my head.592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡblCr34gWyr
"Sweet dreams, Buttercup." I giggled, that was her favorite nickname for me. She left and locked the door behind her. I stared at my night light and hugged my teddy. Daddy would be home soon. He always comes home late now. Mommy says that it's because he works late. But I know better. I know how loud he is when he gets home. I know he scares mommy until she cries. I know he tries to come in my room. But most of all I know that I hate him and how he treats mommy. I know.592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡILdKnNLgWw
By the time I was 7 I already had a pretty good friendship with the monster under my bed. His name was Ozy and had always been there. We had a routine, me and Ozy. Mommy would tuck me in and I would grab my blanket and teddy and crawl right under my bed. Ozy was always warm and fuzzy but most important he was safe. Even while he was drunk my dad could sometimes figure out the lock on my door. He would walk in and I would tremble with every footstep. My mom slumped at the door frame looking as helpless as she felt. But Ozy never let him get close to me. And that went on for years.592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPMVZIdf1So
