Prologue: April 21, 1980

You know how some people are able to have a photographic memory? How they're able to form a mental picture in their mind and return back to it at any given time as they please? Well, I've never claimed to have that ability, not by a long shot. But, I do admit that I can recall a lot of memories from my past as far back as I can remember. Granted, some memories are a whole lot better than others, and there's always some that I wish I could just forget completely. But this one memory in particular stands out among the rest as being one of the first memories I can actually vividly remember. It all started on the day of my fourth birthday. It was just like any other day in Estonia; the afternoon sun shown brightly through my small bedroom window, though I was too preoccupied to enjoy any of the day's beauty.

I held my breath, trying not to make a sound as I slowly opened my bedroom door just a crack, barely big enough to see through as I peered outside, watching and listening intensely as both my parents fought together in the kitchen; the loud shouting of their voices could be heard throughout the whole house.

My mother's words were one of the first I heard as she shouted loudly at my father in Estonian, ". . . Do you honestly think I'm going to stay here a minuet longer, only to sit back and watch as you continue to hurt our Leena, over and over again?! Because if you do, you are one sick bastard! Do you hear me?! ONE. SICK. MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD! And I'm not staying around here any longer to watch this shit! I'm DONE!"

I gasped quietly from her harsh words. What did she mean by 'I'm done'? Was my mother planning on leaving? It wasn't until that moment that I realized she was holding a large suitcase in her hand, and judging by how full that suitcase looked, I already knew I had the answer to that question. But something else also crossed my mind. Why would she accuse my father of 'hurting' me? As far as I was concerned back then, my father had never hurt me before. He loved me. He told me himself plenty of times that he did. And I loved him too. In my eyes, my father was the greatest man in the world. So why would my mother dare to accuse him of such things? He never did anything wrong.

As if on cue, my father then quickly defended himself from her, "I have never, ever hurt Leena! I've never touched a goddamn hair on that girl's head! I love Leena! And fine, LEAVE! I don't need you, bitch! Never have, never will! So go ahead. Leave! See if I care! But Leena's staying with me!"

I backed away from the door at that point; no longing wanting to eavesdrop on my parents, although their loud words could still faintly be heard, even from behind my now closed door.

I sat down on the edge of my bed as my young mind tried to process all that was happening. Just then, the yelling and fighting finally stopped. I listened as the front door of the house was slammed roughly, which was soon followed by the sound of a car starting up. I turned around, looking out my bedroom window as I watched my mother quickly drive off, never to return again.

I continued to stare out the window for a long moment, but then quickly turned around as I heard my bedroom door being opened. My eyes immediately met with my father as he stood in the doorway.

"What's wrong?" I ask him innocently, "Where did mommy go?"

My father then made his way over to my bed as he sat down beside me.

"Your mother had to go away for a little while, to take care of some things," he said, his voice gentle and smooth as he then begin gently running his fingers through my dark hair. "But don't worry. I'm not going anywhere, sweetie. I'll take care of you."

I looked down as my father placed his hand on my leg, watching as his hand slowly traveled upward towards the end of my skirt.

"I love you, Leena. I promise, I won't let anything happen to you. I love you."

"I love you too, daddy," I spoke quietly, staring straight ahead into space as I felt my father's rough hand continued to travel up my leg.

The room suddenly became much darker at that moment as the clouds then covered up the brightness of the sun from outside, as if it were a strange omen, warning me of the unknown horror that laid ahead.

My name is Leena Klammer, and this is the untold story of my life . . .