Letting go was forfeiting my need to be some part of their savior.
The abuse left a stain on her tender heart, and her mind twisted from the games of an evil man. Worse, she felt dirty and unnecessary, like a garage rag that came in handy but was left lying around like trash.
We woke to crashing and movement of furniture. I quickly ran upstairs and listened at my daughters door. She was screaming, “Let me out of here!” With caution, I approached her door and began to turn the handle. It wasn’t locked, I’m not even sure it has a lock. There was my daughter, on her knees, fighting the lockless handle, to escape her room.