My mother’s husband was the perpetrator. But when I told her she was not able to support me or help me on my healing journey. So it was all swept under a pretty thick carpet.
Now she’s dead I’ll never hear these words:
PS on a lighter note the picture is of my dog Tikka in Wales at a place called Beddgelert.
Perhaps I’m drawn to the tale of love and remorse that is associated with this village:
“In the 13th century Llewelyn, prince of North Wales, had a palace at Beddgelert. One day he went hunting without Gelert, ‘The Faithful Hound’, who was unaccountably absent.
On Llewelyn’s return the truant, stained and smeared with blood, joyfully sprang to meet his master. The prince alarmed hastened to find his son, and saw the infant’s cot empty, the bedclothes and floor covered with blood.
The frantic father plunged his sword into the hound’s side, thinking it had killed his heir. The dog’s dying yell was answered by a child’s cry.
Llewelyn searched and discovered his boy unharmed, but nearby lay the body of a mighty wolf which Gelert had slain. The prince filled with remorse is said never to have smiled again. He buried Gelert here”.