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The girl could see two other men grabbing her brother and sister from the car and walking off to the other vehicle with them. The man who had gone into the house, came out shaking his head.

That small signal, the subtle 'no'he said without words, it was the nail that sealed the coffin.

The man in the front seat pulled a yellow rag from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his forehead before tucking it away. “You're going to want to look away, little girl, I don't think you'll want to see this.” His voice was scratchy and thick, reminding her of her grandfather who used to smoke those unfiltered cigarettes.

The car jerked forward as it pulled away from her home, forcing the girl to turn back to the window. Resting her palm against the glass, she heard a loud pop as the distance grew between the car and her house. She watched as her mother's body fell to the ground, laying motionless.

She was too young to really dissect exactly what had happened, but deep in her heart she knew she would never see her mother again. Tears filled her eyes as the car turned and her home was no longer visible.

And as she wept alone, without the comfort of a hug and someone telling her everything would be alright, as she slowly began to see that her entire life had just changed, that little girl still held on to hope.

Hope that her father would come to save her.

Hope that he would find her and punish the men for hurting her mother.

Hope. . . A hope that would soon fade when none of that happened.

A hope that would be replaced by hate.

I wish that was just a scary story, a tall-tail about men who come and steal you away from your mother's arms if you don't follow the rules or disobey your parents. . .

But it's not just a story. It's my reality.

I was nine when they took me away, nine when I saw my family last, nine when I watched my mother die.

I was nine when my life changed forever.

My name is Berlin, and my life is no longer my own.