The girl with the eyes; the eyes that have seen far too much. As a newborn those eyes saw a mother who didn't want her, and only had her because she couldn't afford an abortion. The same mother that, when she found years later, still seemed like she felt the same way. As a toddler those eyes witnessed her big brother, her knight in shining armor, leave to join the military. She didn't realize she would only see him a couple of times a year for the rest of her childhood. She didn't realize that from now on, she would feel like an only child. As a young girl, those eyes cried as her daddy screamed and put his hands on her in more ways than one. She didn't understand why someone who was supposed to love her wanted to hurt her. She didn't understand why, at the daddy-daughter dance, she was the only one who felt uncomfortable. In adolescence, those eyes conveyed a silent plea as her mom's boyfriend's son forced his way inside of her. She was violated in a way that was not new to her, and she felt disgusting all over again. As a teenager, those eyes gazed down at her swollen belly while she braced herself against the fist that belonged to her baby's father. She had no idea that in a year she will have known what it felt like to have a gun to her head or a knife to her throat. She never dreamed that the boy who loved her would try to kill her. As a young adult, those eyes watched her second child's father turn to drugs and another woman. She also learned that abuse could be more than just physical, and she learned that it could hurt just as much. Now these eyes gaze on her husband laying beside her, scared that she's going to feel heartache again. She's scared he's going to turn out like all the rest. She's scared that if she lets herself be vulnerable in love, she'll be crushed when she ends up not being enough. She's scared he'll be disappointed by the broken woman she's become.