12/08/2025
I was ten the first time my father knacked me.
Ten. Still wearing my school uniform with socks that never stayed up, still chasing butterflies in the compound — and already carrying a secret that burned my skin from the inside out.
It became a pattern.
No matter the year, no matter what changed in our house, one thing stayed the same — at some point, my father would knack me.
He never shouted. He never begged. He just… did it, like it was normal.
I learned to live two lives.
In one, I was the happy daughter everyone saw — laughing in public, posting cute pictures, calling him “Daddy” with a smile.
In the other, I was the girl who knew his footsteps in the dark, who knew the way his breath changed right before he touched me.
Years passed. I grew. My body changed. My voice deepened. But the knacking never stopped.
I stopped fighting it. Stopped crying. I just… let it happen.
Now I’m twenty-three.
I have a man I love — Michael. He’s everything my father isn’t. Gentle. Respectful. Safe.
But every time he touches me, I freeze for a second. Because my body still remembers the hands that claimed me first.
Last month, something in me broke. I decided I couldn’t keep living like this.
One evening, I stood in front of my father, my hands shaking, and said, “I can’t do this anymore. I want to stop.”
He didn’t shout. He didn’t look surprised.
He just sat there, staring at me for a long moment before saying quietly,
“If you stop, I will die.”
I laughed. At first, I thought he was being dramatic.
Then he leaned in and said,
“There’s something you don’t know. I belong to a society. You’re my covenant. Every time I knack you, I’m renewing my life. If you stop, I’m gone.”
My knees almost gave way.
It was like my whole childhood suddenly made sense in the worst way possible.
The weight of it crushed me — because no matter how much I h@te him, he’s still my father.
Michael wants to marry me. But how do I tell him that while he’s planning our future, my father is still knacking me to keep himself alive?
How do I walk away knowing that doing so might k!ll the man who gave me life?
If I stop, my father dies.
If I continue, I d!e inside every time.
I don’t know which death is worse.
So I ask you — if it was you, would you save yourself and let him go, or save him and keep dyiNg inside?
From Mrs Meda
