*Since my father went to prison, my life changed, both for better and for worse. For better, I was no longer being abused; for worse...the scars on my psychology never went away.

Even though I was 17, I still asked the person knocking on the door for the password me and my mother had agreed upon, a password known only to my closests: 'butterfly'

İt was Christmas Eve, the doorbell rang, it was probably my mother, this moment felt familiar... I came out of the kitchen, took off my gloves, -I was making cookies.- Before I had a chance to open the door, a piece of paper slipped under the door. I picked it up, it was a note, "butterfly," was that all? The password was correct, but there was no sound. Should I open the door? When I looked through the keyhole, there was no one there. Hesitantly, my hand reached for the doorknob, and just as I was about to turn it, there was a crash in my room...the sound of glass breaking...

And I woke up gasping for breath, oh my God...it was the same dream...*