Momma didn't forgive me that morning like I hoped she would.

I remember waking up on the basement floor and slowly making my way up the stairs with chafed legs. I'd had an accident in my pants again and my body was hurting all over. I tried the door once more and it didn't budge. I knocked three times, each one louder than before, and waited for someone to hear me. I heard footsteps stomping through the kitchen, a lock being turned, and the basement door being thrown open with force.

I jumped back in fright, missed the stair, and went toppling backward down the flight. The tears resurfaced and the pain grew lightning fast. My head was throbbing and I grabbed it, fear and the feeling of abandonment seemed to have made my cries louder.

Through it all, I could hear my momma's laughter and her ominous footsteps drawing near. I remember thinking she'd pick me up and kiss my hurt away like she always did. She instead dropped the clothes she was holding, grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to a door I hadn't seen before to the left of the basement. She opened it and revealed a bathroom.

"Look, you idiot," she said harshly. "Next time you want to piss yourself, go in there so I have less to clean up." I had heard the word idiot before. It was on a television show Daddy was watching. When one of the twins said it, Momma had said it was a potty word and we weren't to use it.

My tears hadn't stopped, but she forced my chin up to look at her and did something I'll never forget. Her large hand came faster than I could have prepared for and she slapped me hard across the cheek making me drop to the floor. I gasped, pain and shock momentarily blinding me.

"Quit your crying! You're three-freaking-years old, not an infant!" She walked upstairs and locked the door.

I stood up slowly, opening my mouth and closing it a few times, trying to relieve the pain in my jaw. I tried to stop crying, Momma told me to stop, but I couldn't. I wondered how so much had changed in such a short amount of time. Momma had never hit me, she hadn't yelled at me, it was as if she was a different person entirely without my daddy.

I dressed in my new clothes, unable to figure out the pants. Daddy or Momma always helped me with clothes. I decided against pants for the day.

The twins seemed to understand they were not supposed to talk to me. I, however, couldn't grasp why I wasn't allowed to communicate with my best friends, my brother and sister.

I found a box of supplies and began to draw on the scratch paper. I'd draw designs I thought my family would like and I'd feed them under the basement door, hoping the twins would find them before Mommy did. Mommy and Daddy used to love my drawings.

After a while, Daddy came home to get his things and leave. Before long, my mommy and daddy were screaming at each other. They were angrily cursing, yelling about how much they hated one another. I didn't understand how they could be so mean.

I was scared. Why was everyone turning so mean? Did Daddy know how long I'd been in time out? Did he know how hungry I was?

With a final "I'm leaving" from my daddy, he kissed my sibling's goodbye and told them he loved them. He told them he'd keep in touch. Momma had told him I was in the basement. She told him it was my new room, my punishment. I finally realized I wasn't in time-out, I was in big trouble. I thought maybe he'd tell my momma she was being silly, that I didn't deserve to be stuck in the cold basement.

But I was wrong.

My heart broke in two when I heard the front door close. My daddy left again without saying goodbye to me, leaving me in the basement.

By dinnertime, my body was very hungry. I could feel my tummy rumbling and attempted to ignore it. I waited at the bottom of the stairs to see if anyone would come to visit me. I could hear my mom and the twins at the table eating dinner.

The twins seemed happy. I missed them. Did they miss me?

By the time my belly was feeling sick with hunger, Momma came in with a plate of food and another glass of water. She sat the plate on the floor and looked around the basement in shock. She gasped and exclaimed, "Don't go through my stuff! Who told you to play with my supplies?"

I cowered away from her, not recognizing my mommy. Her eyes were bloodshot, he breath smelled of something awful, and her hands seemed to shake with the need to hit me.

"I'm sorry, Mommy. I was drawing for the twins and for you and Daddy. You like that, 'member?"

The mention of Adam had set her off. She grabbed a block of wood used to hold the bathroom door open and pounded my bottom with it, screaming at how much of a failure I was. Momma had spanked me softly before, trying to show me right from wrong, but never with so much anger and hatred behind it. It hurt me badly, but I didn't cry for fear of her hitting me harder.

I was becoming incredibly confused. Momma had always praised me in the past for telling her when I needed to go to the bathroom or drawing the family pictures. Now she was hitting me and yelling at me.

When she let me go, I scurried away from her and ran to the corner of the basement, crouching down with my hands above my head. She stared after me with crazed eyes before whipping around, stepping on the plate of food, and locking the heavy basement door behind her.

I ran to the plate and ate the leftover spaghetti as soon as I could. It didn't matter to me that Momma had stepped on it. I was so very hungry that I almost choked on the food. I was able to keep the water away from my clothes and into my mouth and I smiled a little. I thought that would have made Daddy proud.

When I had finished my food, I had nothing to do besides go to bed. The bathroom had a sink and a toilet. It didn't have a stepping stool like my other bathroom so I did my best to climb onto the toilet. Once I went potty, I traveled to my rug and fell asleep, missing my family. I cried before I closed my eyes, completely lost and afraid.