I was kidnapped from my bed when I was 9 years old. It was the middle of a summer night, my window was open and my parents were on the other side of the house. They never heard my screen get cut open, my mouth gagged, or my body dragged out to an awaiting car.

I stayed captive for 5 years, eventually learning to depend on my captor in the sort of way a slave depends on his master, full knowing your life is in their hands.

My rescue was swift and violent. Someone had seen me in a grocery store and found it odd that my face was covered up, so they followed the car I came in home and called the police.

The sound of the sirens must have tipped off Henry, because he told me he loved me, then laid me down on the ground before closing the door behind him as he left for the living room. There was shouting, screaming, yelling, and several gun shots. I don’t know how many, I was screaming along with them.

As I was carried out to the police car I saw his body lying there in a pool of blood.

Innocence lost.