"My Daughter Isn’t a Woman for You — She’s Mine."

High up on a remote hill, far from towns and people, lived a father and his daughter. Alone. Isolated. Forgotten. Their house was falling apart, their yard overgrown and wild. They had three dogs, a rusty cart full of old things covered with a thick blanket, and a silence that screamed louder than any cry for help.

The father was a strange man—unkempt, withdrawn, with a vacant look in his eyes. Many said something wasn’t right with him, that he wasn’t completely mentally stable. Years ago, his wife had left him. She escaped his madness and barely took her own life with her. She remarried, moved abroad, and never looked back. She left their daughter behind with him. Maybe she didn’t know. Or maybe she did—but didn’t have the strength to face it.

The girl grew up in captivity. Her father wouldn’t let her go anywhere without him. She barely finished elementary school. He never allowed her to attend high school. He told her she didn’t need it. He told her the world was dangerous, that people wanted to ruin her, and that she should stay with him—forever. He locked the gates. He controlled every movement. She wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone. She wasn’t even allowed to look up. Only to listen. Only to obey.

When they went into town, she would pull the cart behind her, filled with who-knows-what, covered with an old blanket. He would walk in front of her, leading the dogs on ropes. No one ever saw her face. She always looked at the ground. Silent. Submissive. Ashamed.

People began to suspect something wasn’t right. Rumors started—whispers that the father was in love with his daughter. That he was abusing her. Suitors came from nearby villages, hoping to take her away. The father chased them all off. Sometimes at gunpoint. “She’s mine,” he would say. “She’s not for you.”

The neighbors started reporting him to the police. They came several times. They questioned the girl, asking if her father was hurting her. She would only shrug, eyes cast downward, lips sealed. Her silence was louder than any scream. Her eyes begged for help, but the words never came. She was too afraid.

The abuse went on for years—physical, emotional, and sexual. Her nights were filled with tears. Her days, with silence and fear. She had no way out. No one to trust. No one to run to.

Then one morning, a neighbor walking by saw her body hanging from a tree in the yard. She had taken her own life. Beneath the tree, on a flat rock, lay a folded letter.

In it, she described everything. How her father beat her. How he raped her. How he locked her away from the world. How she cried every night, praying for a miracle that never came. How she finally ran out of strength.

“I hope God won’t punish me for ending my life,” she wrote. “Because this world has already been hell for me.”

The father was arrested. He denied everything. Claimed she never said a word. That it was all a lie. But the letter was clear. It told the truth that she had carried in silence for years. He was sentenced to a few years in prison. Served even less due to “health issues.” After his release, no one wanted anything to do with him. He drank himself to death in a filthy, forgotten corner of the city.

People in the area talked about the tragedy for a while. Some blamed the mother. Some blamed the neighbors for not doing more. Some stayed silent—just like they had when it mattered most.

But the girl—she never got the chance to live. She never felt love. Never felt freedom. Never knew joy. She was buried under years of silence, fear, and pain. Her voice was taken from her while she was still alive.

Message:

If you suspect abuse—don’t stay silent. If someone is hurting you—speak up. If you're trapped—run, scream, fight for your life.

Silence doesn't protect. Silence destroys.