The house I grew up in was a 2 family house. The owners lived on one side and my family lived on the other. We shared the hall and staircase. The house had 3 floors. My bedroom was on the 3rd floor. Hence, the name of my book - The Third Floor Window.
Someone told the landlady recently about my book and that it was about me being sexually abused. She refuses to believe it happened. In fact, she lives in such denial, she even yelled at my mother and hung up on her because my mother was trying to tell her that it really happened!
Obviously the woman is ignorant. And I need to pray for her and people like her. It is people like that who keep people like me from coming out and telling our stories for fear of what will be said about us. Well, I really do not care what she says.
And yet I do care. I care that someone I knew, someone who once said I was the daughter she always wanted, would react to my story this way.
I guess I should pray for her. And I will. But darn it, right now I am a bit peeved. and hurt.