My Daughter's Rapist I Called A Saint

Summary

The day my sixteen-year-old daughter was assaulted by her tutor, I heard her cries for help.

And I did nothing.

In fact, I locked the door to her room, leaned against it, and cheered him on.

Afterward, my daughter’s spirit shattered. She stood on the edge of our rooftop, her dress torn, the wind whipping around her.

But when the first responders rushed up, I was the one who screamed at them.

“She wanted it!”

“She dresses like that, what does she expect? She was asking for it!”

“What are you even doing here? If she was going to jump, she’d have done it by now!”