One Hundred and Thirty-Seven Faces

For seventeen years, I was locked in an attic by my stepfather. I grew up staring at a single photograph. A four-year-old girl. A white dress. A dimple on the left side of her cheek whenever she smiled. He never hit my face. The face was meant to be used. Whenever something didn’t match, he wrote it down in a notebook. Every mark he recorded meant one surgery the following year. After eleven surgeries… I became her. ......

Oleh huahuayeye