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The amber sun was beaming in azure blue while flirting birds bounced on gymnastic skies.  Drawing as much peace from their antics as I could, I made the troubled journey home. Oma had been diligently trying to make us believe we were mentally disturbed. That we were exaggerating or lying about the things that happened to us. That we had made up memories. That we misbehaved and didn't want to face up to our punishment. That we are ruining people's lives with the things we're saying. She poured on the tears crying as if we did this to her. She successfully shamed us into complying with her instructions.  She said I should be careful or I was going the way of the street slut. She had me write letters to each member of the family apologizing for my behaviour and promising not to say or do such things again. Only one family member responded which brought me back to myself.

In the letter, she said it is not your fault your stepfather used you as a punching bag. It's not your fault your mother abandoned you, it is not your fault they used you as slaves. You shouldn't be apologizing for any of that.

That was my aunt. The one who, some years back, gave me clothes because I didn't have any.

I thanked her for her letter and said you're right. Thanks for bringing me back and I came back to myself quickly. For one specific reason.

The girl who went into the forest was not the girl that came out. I had more wisdom when it came to survival. Some of the naive bubbles that I carried with me popped. There was a shrewd look in my gaze and I watched with an eagle eye missing nothing. 

Knowing the things I know about the family too, I knew they were capable of anything.  So I prepared myself for anything.

I also knew balls to bones that my stepfather was trying to end our lives.

Death in a way they could explain due to deteriorating mental health so it wouldn't cause trouble for Oma and her sons or my stepfather and mother.

While oma continued her diatribe in her effort to make us believe we were messed up.

At the same time, my mother went to family and friends telling them that we girls had false memory syndrome to not pay attention to anything we said. They set the stage for the three of them so anything that happened to us, there it was, the explanation.

I got wind of that particular jewel when we had to attend a funeral. People began to approach me throughout the funeral saying, "You should know what your mother and grandmother are saying about you."They said it word-for-word verbatim like they sat and planned it together. My mother and grandmother, two created undeserved reputations for us girls that we were never able to live down.

That set the trap for us.  I knew it...plain as my nose.

The snowball effect:

What would happen if Social Services took us seriously? 

Oma, a high-up public social worker would lose her job and an investigation would be carried out. All her secrets would be revealed.  Which in turn could ruin the career of her politician son.  This will also affect the career of her policymaker son high up in social services.  Her daughter's career as a foster parent for disabled and/or special needs kids.  The whole house of cards will come tumbling down and everyone will go with it.

You cannot start a life with lies and deception. It's doomed to failure. A house of cards bound to fall.

For Oma, it would be the worst, but for one lie, one secret all of this chaos, wreckage, blood, danger manipulation and downright criminal activity would not have happened.  Likely there would be charges and people would pay. How could you keep something like this quiet? You can if you work for the source.

Oma could not have any of that coming up. It would ruin her reputation with the church the social services and her friends.

And the success of her children would not happen.  They'd lose their careers by association and/or involvement with that deception exposed. If all came out, it would be like being back in Holland again rejected by everyone.

If Social Services did not take us seriously well... 

Two dead girls... without even a whisper.