Lillian grew up in a house where the days were long and the nights even longer. She remembers the smell of alcohol that hung in the air. Nobody saw it. At home she was the quiet girl, the one everyone knew but no one really knew what happened to her after school was over. She swallowed her tears and hid them under a fake smile

After each blow, Lillian would try to hide the scars on her face, not because I was afraid he would find out, but because she didn't want to risk someone starting to ask questions. She couldn't understand why no one saw what she went through, why no one believed her.

She tried to explain once to her teacher, who seemed like a good person, but she didn't believe her. Everyone always told her the same thing - "everything will be fine". But Lillian knew - it wasn't okay, and it won't be either.

It was just a world that others lived in, a world where love was not a means of control, where home was a place of warmth and peace, not of fear and violence.

The physical pain was only part of the story. The real one was the surrounding silence. Nobody noticed. The teachers at school didn't notice her crushed appearance, her paleness, the tears she barely had time to wipe away before she left the range. The friends - you are always isolated.

But no one dared to ask anything.

But no one saw the truth. Not the teachers, not the friends and not the people around. They think she's just a quiet girl, too shy, maybe "having a hard time". No one asked too much. No one was interested.

she tried Tried to hide. Sometimes she would run away to her room, wrap herself in a blanket, imagine another world - a place where there were no screams, a place where there was no feeling of alienation in the family. But it didn't help. Every day was the same - violence and shouting.