THE EVIL DRIVER ABUSED HIS BOSS’S DAUGHTER WHENEVER NO ONE WAS HOME… AND THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED…

This story you’re about to read is about parental neglect, and how that destroyed my innocence.

My parents did not neglect me financially.
I had everything: expensive gifts, a beautiful house, and all my needs covered.
But emotionally? I was invisible.

They were never there to listen to me.
They were never there when I really needed them.
And that ruined my life.

I hope you read this… and learn from my story.

My name is Chizzy, and everything started to fall apart shortly after I turned fifteen.

That year, Mom and Dad bought me a lot of expensive gifts.
But they didn’t give them to me in person.
The maid handed them to me saying,
“Your parents asked me to give you this.

That was it.
No hugs. No “happy birthday”. Just gifts… without presence.

I felt bad… but what could he do?
My parents always put work above me.
That’s how it had always been: no time, no attention, just silence in a house full of luxuries.

Until he arrived.

“THIS STORY BELONGS TO LAUNDRY GUY. IF YOU SEE IT SOMEWHERE ELSE, IT’S BEEN STOLEN—

My old driver, an older man who had been with me since I was a child, got a better job and had to leave.
It took my parents a whole week to find a replacement.

And the day he arrived…
My life changed forever.

He was not like the previous driver.
He was tall, young, and too attractive.
But from the first moment, I didn’t like it at all.

There was something strange about him.

Their flirtatious smiles…
The way she licked her lips provocatively when she opened the door for me…
The way he looked at me in the rearview mirror, staring too closely…

All that disgusted me.

But I kept quiet.
Because I had already learned not to get into trouble.
Because I had already learned that no one would defend me, not even my own parents.

I kept silent, as always…
Until one day, everything changed.

Raymond had just picked me up from school and drove me home.
He parked in the yard, and when I bent down to pick up my backpack,
he grabbed my butt and squeezed it gently.

I turned, in shock.
And there he was—smiling, without a hint of remorse.

I couldn’t contain myself.
I slapped him hard in the face.

He put his hand to his burning cheek, still with a surprised expression.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” I said furiously. Or I’ll tell my parents.

And I went furiously into the house.

That night, I lay up waiting for Mom and Dad. I was determined to tell them what had happened—to ask them for a new driver, or at least to order Raymond to stay away from me.

But when they arrived…
They didn’t want to listen to me.

“I had a very long day, Chizzy. Go to your room,” Mom said in a tired voice, as she put on her nightgown.

And Dad?

He didn’t even let me finish.

“Do you know how much it cost me to get you a new driver?” he said in a curt tone. I even missed work to make appointments with the best agencies. And you only know how to complain? You are a very ungrateful child.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I walked out of her room.

I felt rejected.
I felt invisible.
I felt like I was worthless.

And then came the day when everything changed.

It was an ordinary afternoon.
Raymond came to pick me up from school, after my reinforcement classes.
I climbed into the back seat, waved weakly at him, and rested my head against the window.
I was exhausted… So I fell asleep.

I assumed we were on our way home.
But when I opened my eyes minutes later,
I wasn’t home.

I was in a strange, remote and silent house.

“What are we doing here?” I asked Raymond, confused and scared.

He did not answer.
He just gave me that same haunting smile… and ordered me to get out of the car.

And that was…
the beginning of my nightmare with Raymond.

Doubted.

“I told you to come down,” Raymond repeated. His voice was no longer kind. She was firm, authoritarian.

My heart was pounding.
Everything in me screamed that something was not right.
But I went down, slowly, cautiously. The backpack still hanging from my shoulder.

The house seemed abandoned. Silent, dusty, isolated.
There were no neighbors, no voices, no traffic noises. Only thick silence.

I looked around, trying to locate myself.
But I had no idea where we were.

“Why are we here?” I insisted, trying to sound brave, although my voice trembled.

Raymond didn’t answer.
He opened the door of the house and beckoned me in.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Talk?” We were able to do that in the car. I’m not going to go in.

He came closer.

“Stop complicating things,” he muttered. I have been patient.

And then I knew that it was not about talking.

I turned to run.
But before you take a step…

He grabbed me.

A hand covered my mouth.
The other wrapped her arm around my waist.
He dragged me into the house, kicked the door, closed it… and locked it.

Fought.
I kicked, scratched his arms. I tried to scream, but my voice was choked.

“Shhh… No one can hear you here, he whispered.

He threw me onto an old couch and stood in front of me, breathing heavily.

“You play tough,” she said, her eyes dark with obsession, “but I know you want me to touch you.” I see it in your eyes every day.

“You’re sick!” I spat at him.

He just laughed.

“You’ll get used to me,” he said. Now we have all the time in the world.

That moment was like a hell from which I could not wake up.

I felt helpless.
Paralyzed with fear.

He began to draw closer again…
But his phone rang.

He cursed under his breath and stepped aside to answer.

That was my chance.

Without thinking, I grabbed my backpack and ran to the door.
With trembling hands, I managed to open it and ran away.
I ran faster than I have ever run in my life.
On a road full of weeds, on the dusty road… without knowing where he was going. I just wanted to run away.

I didn’t stop until I saw a local shop by the side of the road and some motorbikes.
I was lucky: I still had some money left.

I signaled to a motorcycle. I climbed in, crying uncontrollably.

I gave him the address, and without asking questions, he sped off.

The bike dropped me off right in front of our gate.
I got off, paid and entered.

When I opened the gate, I saw that Raymond had arrived before me.
My parents were there too, standing in the doorway with worried faces.

“Mommy! I shouted, running towards her with tears streaming down my face.

But he pushed me lightly and slapped me loudly.

“Chizzy!” Have you become so old that you can go with any boy out there, ah? Your driver came to pick you up and didn’t find you at school. Is this how I raised you?

As he spoke, I looked at Raymond,
who looked at me with a wicked smile…

And as for my mother…
I felt like I had completely failed myself.

After that night, things at home began to change.
My parents, for the first time, treated me like a real person.
They listened to me. They hugged me. They protected me.
I no longer felt invisible.

But inside me… Something was still broken.

The nightmares didn’t go away right away.
I dreamed that Raymond was coming back. That it caught me again.
I woke up sweating, my heart beating like a war drum.

Mom took me to therapy.
At first I didn’t want to talk…
But one day, the psychologist told me:

“Chizzy, you survived. But now you have to do something harder: heal.
And healing begins when you transform your pain into strength.

Those words stuck with me.

A month later, I learned something that stirred my soul.
Raymond was working as a driver again, in another neighborhood.
And the family had a young daughter.

I couldn’t allow it!

I told my parents.
This time they didn’t ignore me.
We went to the police station. We took the phone, the photos, and the formal complaint.

The case was taken seriously.

Thanks to my testimony, and digital evidence, Raymond was arrested days later.
And not only because of my case… there were other complaints.
Girls who had not had the courage to speak. Until I did.

That day, something changed in me.
He was no longer just a victim.
It was a voice for those who could not speak.

I started writing.
I told my story on an anonymous blog.
I talked about how emotional neglect can be just as destructive as physical neglect.
How parents should listen more, and judge less.

The blog went viral.

I received messages from other girls who said
, “Thank you, Chizzy. You gave me the courage to tell my story as well.”

Years later, I became a children’s rights advocate and speaker.
I told my story in schools, community centers, and even on television.
My parents accompanied me to some talks, holding hands.

Dad used to say to the audience:

“Sometimes it’s not enough to provide a house and food. We have to be present. You have to listen.
And we learned that… Thanks to our daughter.

And I?

I kept going.

There were dark moments.
Days when sadness paralyzed me.
But every time I went on stage, every time a girl came up to me with tears saying “me too“…
I felt that everything made sense.

Raymond was sentenced to prison.
And while that didn’t erase the past, it gave me peace.

Because I knew I would never touch another girl again.

EPILOGUE

Today I am 25 years old.
I’m happy.
And I’m at peace with my story, because I know it didn’t define me… it transformed me.

I’m Chizzy.
And this was my story.

A story of pain…
of silence…
of betrayal…

But also of courage, justice… and redemption.