Child Protective Services
CPS
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After the cop filed the report with CPS. When I finally tried to speak up again, CPS came into the house.
A woman walked in — I don’t remember her face or her name, but I remember her tone, and she was white.
Cold.
Detached.
Like we were just another name on her clipboard and she already decided nothing was wrong. She walked from room to room, asking questions, and felt as if she were pretending to investigate. I did notice she was looking at the state of the house. Just a routine on another shitty day. She talked to each of us kids. But not separately and around the Whites. I remember going into the kitchen with my head down, pretending to do something, but really I was trying to hear every single word.
When I told the lady my side and my truth. She didn't believe me, and I saw the word " liar" in her eyes. One v.s everyone else against me. Everyone was saying the same thing or didn't see it, and I was the only one who stood out. My words didn't match what they said. I have to be telling all lies, not telling the truth.
But in that kitchen...
That’s when Alex and Lily came to me.
You could see the fear in their eyes — that same silent fear we all lived with in that house.
Alex whispered, “What am I supposed to say?”
He was scared.
He didn’t know what would happen if he told the truth.
And honestly, I would get into trouble. It was always made to be my fault. Monkey see monkey do. Telling me I am setting a bad example for my siblings and that I always have to take the blame.
I wanted to help him. I wanted him to speak up for me. I wanted someone — anyone — to finally say out loud what was happening in that house.
But I couldn’t push him or influence what he said. It was something hard he had to do alone and to stand up.
So I told him the only thing I could:
I can’t put words in your mouth. You know what you saw. Tell the truth. I believe in you..”
Everything will be okay.
I kept my distance.
Careful.
Guarded.
Because one wrong sentence in that house could turn into punishment, blame, and full of hate towards me.
Alex, my little brother didn’t tell her.
None of the kids did.
And when the CPS worker walked out the door, nothing happened.
No report.
No consequences.
Just silence — again.
Everything was swept under the rug, building layer after layer, like dust pressed so tight that one day someone would step on it and the truth would explode everywhere.
No one stood up for me.
Not one adult.
Not one system.
Not my own siblings.
It felt like everything was against me. I was a child fighting alone.
And yes — it hurts that Alex didn’t tell the truth. But I understand him. He was scared of the Whites. They scared all of us. So I don’t blame him. He was surviving, just like me.
And the truth is:
I trusted no one but myself. No one else could do what I was doing in that house. I had to learn on my own: wrong was right and right was wrong — and I was the only one trying to navigate it without losing myself.
Children don’t stay silent because they don’t know what’s happening.
They stay silent because they do — and they’re punished for it.
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And when I think about this the one person I lean on is Jesus. He understood the silence, the betrayal, the way the truth was ignored.
He said,
“When the world hates you, remember — it hated Me first.” His own words and the holy truth.
I used to hear that and not understand it.
But now I do.
Because Jesus knew what it felt like to speak truth and be dismissed.
To be innocent and still be treated like the problem.
To have people smile in His face one moment
and turn on Him the next.
His own people —
His own community —
betrayed Him.
Jesus was a Jew, and the Jews around Him chose to throw him off the mountain and demand His crucifixion.
The same crowd that once shouted “Hosanna” "save us" later shouted “Crucify Him.”
They freed the guilty and punished the innocent.
They protected the monster and killed the one who healed them.
So when adults protected the Whites, when CPS protected the abusers, when the system turned its back on me — I realized Jesus lived that too.
He was betrayed by someone who walked beside Him, denied by someone who swore they loved Him, abandoned by the ones who promised to stay, and handed over to violence by a system that knew He was innocent.
He suffered at the hands of the very people He loved.
So when the world treated me like a liar, when no one stood up for me, when the truth was right there and no one cared —I knew Jesus understood that kind of pain better than anyone.
He wasn’t loved by the world. He was hated by it.
Not because He was wrong, but because He was right.
And that’s why I held on to Him, even when I couldn’t hold on to anyone else.
My suffering didn’t mean I was forgotten. It meant I was understood.
By Him.
Fully.
Completely.
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Because the truth is, the betrayal didn’t stop in that kitchen.
[You will know as the story keeps going]
Back then, it was kids too scared to speak, adults too powerful to be questioned, a system that walked into our home and chose to believe the abusers instead of the broken child standing right in front of them. I learned early that justice wasn’t real for people like me. That adults could hurt children and still be called “good parents.” That the world will protect the ones with money, sex, power, or pretty words. Just gotta know how to play the game.
And now… years later… it happened again.