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From then on Jesse locked her door every night. Had she imagined it all? No, he was her father, the same man who still once in a while talked about his wife Rose, Jesse's mother, now dead fifteen years. He had done what he had done. And quickly, within minutes, Jesse's feeble attempts at denial turned to rage––and fear. He was physically stronger than she was. Would he try again and make sure on the next attempt that she couldn’t escape? She wanted to remember nothing. She had collapsed on the floor in her room and leaned against the bed. She hugged her knees tightly. The tears came in silence. She clamped her mouth shut as tightly as she could. "Mama." Jesse didn't forget. The pills in her purse were there to remind her. She felt dirtied. Utica was sixteen years old when he finally wo
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