It was March 23, 1956, at six thirty-four in the morning, a baby girl was bornall of six pounds. She was perfectsoft pink skin, big blue eyes, and barely enough blond hair to say she had hair. She did not cry but was very content, just needed the basics: milk, a diaper change, and someone to love her and tell her she was special. She was born to loveless parentshe was twenty-five, and she was twenty. Her name is Diane, and she shared life with her four-year-old brother, Scott. What should have been a beautiful day and a beautiful life was not to be. I was sired by a monstera beasta person who only thought of himself, and whatever he thought he needed, he took. He ravaged my mother every nine months, and she had a baby every year or two up to the time she committed herself to an institution. Now it is 2015, and my story will be told. I am fifty-nine years old and have all the scars from being born by chance to these people. I live in the South and have three children. There are five grandchildren. This is my story, and it is written not to terrify the reader but to let you know the dangerous beasts that are out there waiting to destroy pieces of you. My journey now is to heal and focus on myself. I have loved my children too much, and I can no longer fix a husband. Today is my day. The story passed to me about my personality is that a simple piece of bubble gum would make me happy, that faithful and happy disposition has gotten me through many yesterdays. There is a higher plan; I must be patient to hear it revealed. I will understand one day. Please read this book and share it. There are many victims. You will never know them until you talk about sexual abuse. Be kind. Spread the joy.