The scars they left

Part 1 — The Beginning of My Nightmare My name is Treasure Micheal, and I am from Delta State, Nigeria. I am the third child and the only daughter in my family. My childhood was not the kind of childhood I imagined when I was younger. My parents separated when I was still very young. Because of the situation at home, my three brothers and I went to live with our grandmother. For twelve years, she became the person who raised us, cared for us, and watched us grow. Those years taught me many things. I learned to be obedient. I learned to work hard. I learned to respect people and appreciate whatever life gave me. But life also introduced me to pain at a very young age. Losing My Brother In 2014, tragedy struck my family. I lost my elder brother after he was stabbed to death by his best friend following an argument. It was difficult to understand how someone who had once been a friend could become responsible for such a terrible loss. Our family was devastated. I was still young, but I could feel the emptiness his death created. The following year, in 2015, my mother came to take us to live with her. Being reunited with my mother gave me a different kind of hope. I wanted to believe that perhaps life was finally going to become better. I focused on school. In 2018, I completed secondary school. I was an obedient and hardworking girl with big dreams for my future. I wanted to further my education and become a nurse. I attended lessons, researched universities, and was excited about the future. I imagined myself wearing a nurse's uniform one day and making my family proud. Whenever I thought about my future, I felt excited. I had no idea that life was about to take me somewhere I never expected. Losing My Father Then my father became sick. His illness affected everyone around him. Eventually, he died. That moment broke me. I cried endlessly. I wished I could bring him back. I wished I could hear his voice one more time. I wished I could have one more conversation with him. But no amount of crying could change what had happened. My father was gone. At the same time, my mother was struggling financially. I knew she needed help, so I decided to support her with her bar business. I thought I was simply helping my mother. I didn't know that working at that bar would lead me to the person who would change my life forever. His name was Francis. The Boy I Trusted Francis often came to my mother's shop, especially when he noticed that my mother wasn't around. He would sit with me and talk. He knew exactly what to say. He told me that I was beautiful. He told me that he loved and cherished me. He made me feel noticed. At that age, I was young and inexperienced. I didn't understand how easily sweet words could make someone lower their guard. I believed him. Slowly, I began developing feelings for him. I trusted him. Looking back now, I realize that trust can sometimes make us blind to things we should have noticed. Francis would sometimes take money, drinks, and cigarettes from the shop whenever my mother wasn't there. I noticed these things, but I didn't think they were signs of something much worse. One day, he told me to visit him whenever I was going to the market. I didn't think anything of it. I trusted him. The Day Everything Changed One day, my mother sent me to the market to buy palm oil. On my way, I stopped at Francis's place. When I arrived, he wasn't home. So I waited. Eventually, he came back. He welcomed me inside and reassured me that there was nothing to be afraid of. We talked for a while. Then I remembered that I needed to continue to the market. "I need to go and buy the palm oil," I told him. He looked at me and said he could help. "Give me the money. I'll send someone to get it for you." I didn't see any reason to doubt him. So I gave him the money. He later gave me a drink. Not long afterward, I began feeling strange. At first, I thought I was simply tired. Then the headache started. It became severe. The room seemed to spin around me. My body became weak. I couldn't understand what was happening. Then everything changed. The Assault Francis moved toward me. At first, I didn't understand what he intended to do. Then he began touching me in ways I did not want. I immediately became frightened. "Please stop." I tried to push him away. "I don't want this." But he ignored me. His hands moved over my body despite my repeated objections. I kept telling him no. I tried to move away from him. I tried to resist. But the dizziness had become overwhelming, and my body felt incredibly weak. I couldn't defend myself the way I wanted to. Then he called another person into the room. My heart sank. I knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. I cried. I begged them to stop. I tried to resist them. But my refusal was ignored. The two men sexually assaulted me. I felt completely powerless. I remember crying and wishing someone would come through that door. I wished somebody would hear me. I wished somebody would save me. But nobody came. Eventually, I was left alone. I was frightened, injured, and emotionally shattered. I cried until exhaustion took over me. Eventually, I fell asleep. 4 A.M. Around 4 a.m., I woke up. The first thing I noticed was the pain. Then I realized I was bleeding. My heart began racing. I looked around. Francis and his friend were gone. I tried to stand. It was difficult. My body hurt, and I felt incredibly weak. Still, I knew I had to get out. I slowly made my way toward the door. Then I discovered it was locked. I broke down. I began crying and shouting for help. "Help me!" My voice was weak. I shouted again. "Please, somebody help me!" I didn't know whether anyone could hear me. Then, after what felt like forever, I heard voices outside. Two women and a man had heard my cries. They came toward the house. When they saw my condition, they immediately realized that something terrible had happened. The man forced the door open. I could barely speak. But I managed to tell them what had happened. The community vigilantes were called. My mother was contacted. When my mother and brothers arrived, everything became a blur. My mother saw me and immediately rushed me to the hospital. The Hospital I was still bleeding when we arrived. The doctors examined me and told my mother that I needed stitches to stop the bleeding. I was terrified. I received treatment and injections. I remember lying there wondering how my life had changed so suddenly. Just a short time earlier, I had been dreaming about becoming a nurse. Now I was lying in a hospital bed because someone I trusted had violated me. Eventually, I was discharged. But although the doctors treated my physical injuries, there were wounds inside me that nobody could see. Justice The following day, the vigilante chairman informed my family that Francis and his friend had been arrested. My mother insisted that they be handed over to the police. The case eventually went to court. Francis was sentenced to nine years in prison, while his friend received six years. My family felt some relief knowing that they had been held accountable. But for me, the pain didn't disappear simply because they were sentenced. I still had memories. I still had questions. And I still had to live with what had happened. I thought the worst was finally behind me. I was wrong. Four Months Later About Four months later, I noticed something unusual. I began developing rashes. Then I noticed an unusual, foul-smelling discharge. I became worried and told my mother. We went to a pharmacy. The pharmacist examined me and advised us to go to the hospital. We followed his advice. At the hospital, the doctor examined me and referred me to the laboratory for tests. I walked toward the laboratory hoping that the doctors would tell me it was something simple. Something that could easily be treated. Something that would finally allow me to move on. But as I waited for the results, an uneasy feeling came over me. I didn't know it yet, but another painful chapter was about to begin. And this time... I wasn't prepared for what I was about to discover. PART 2 LOADING... ❤️