As my thoughts return to the present, I realize that the sky is now well lit and my children have returned to their unfamiliar beds. I ache deep inside. My heart breaks. I know now that we won't see those outstretched arms again. I know I will never be able to return to my abusive husband and I remember vividly now that my Daddy never returned, though he promised to.

"What was wrong with me?" I ask myself. Why couldn't they love me? What's wrong with me still?"

Again the "he" in my life is gone; the "he" who said "Come to my arms. I love you. I'll always love you. Your heart is a part of mine; you a part of me..." is gone. I know I'll never see him again and I'll spend a lifetime trying to explain something I don't understand to children who are innocently hurt along the way; children who will one day blame themselves and wonder what they did, though they are blameless.

I look around me now, full sunshine peering through the top floor window of the shelter, three floors up. Four beds, a dresser, a closet... this is our world now... a box we use for laundry, a bag to carry our necessities back and forth from the shared bathrooms each day. There is nothing personal here that says we are individuals of worth. No... we are now considered 'people like you.' We struggle in our tight little corner of our box of a world until we can climb out on our own or in 30 days, whichever comes first. We are forgotten and alone, but I can't say such things to my children. They must have hope. What hope have I to give them? What future can I promise? What did we ever do to deserve this? Why am I in this situation?

Why?..... because I'm not good enough, young enough, beautiful enough. I am second-hand, used, old and disposable. This is my real nightmare... the world that exists when I open my eyes. I am not worthy of caring or of love or of sacrifice. I must only give of myself and not receive. I must give until I'm empty, so empty that I AM nothing and have nothing left.... then I must find a way to give even more.