In my household of three, my mother would occasionally come home with men. This man treated me like a toy, and I was utterly powerless against his actions. My mother ignored the scene, turning a blind eye. What hurt the most was that my older brother, who should have been my only ally, never stepped in to help me. Every time I pleaded for help, he would only stare quietly. But once those men were gone, my brother would immediately pull me into his arms. That warmth wasn't mere kindness—it was a profound expression of love.