Why I wrote "A Beautiful Girl"

In one word - Hope.

I'd seen many stories about how abuse affects the victim, but all of them left me clawing at reality. Was there any hope for the victim or were they all destined for a down the drain battle? After meeting many who had done more than survive, I thought someone should write such a story. I just didn't know it would be me.

Since releasing this story, many have been deeply moved by the characters, particularly Sara, Rick, and the outsider, Ana. One girl realized she was worth loving. Another was determined to heal so she could help others with stories similar to her own. Yet, another decided he'd finally face the demons in his mind he'd ignored for too long.

I am eager to hear from others who have been touched by Sara's story. Leave a comment. Tell others about this book. Review this story on Amazon.

Discover Beauty Within.


A Beautiful Girl Blurb: Attempting to survive a horrible secret – abuse by her step-father, Sara meets the one person she dare not make friends with. Rick's friendly nature draws Sara into a relationship that helps her heal but also threatens her safety and that of her family. How will she escape the man who also holds her mother and siblings hostage?

A Beautiful Girl Excerpt:
“Oh, no. My bus,” I yelled, pushing him away. “I can’t miss my bus.”
“It’s ok, Sara. I’ll take you home. Maybe I can get you there when the bus pulls up.”
“You don’t understand. He watches me walk off the stupid thing,” I said breathlessly, immediately running down the hall and out the front door.
Once outside, I nearly fell flat on my face when a mental fog temporarily blocked all reason.
My bus was gone.
I felt like screaming, but the sound wouldn’t come. I had to run, run fast and get home. Maybe he won’t be there. Maybe he’ll be busy raking the leaves.
“Oh, God, please don’t let him notice I’m not on the bus.”
I breathed deeply as my heart pumped faster. I decided to run the equivalent of ten zigzagged blocks home. My feet stumbled twice along the way, but I pressed on. I saw the bus once, crossing a path I had yet to reach. Waving, I realized the bus driver didn’t see me. Liquid fell down my cheeks, and it seemed as if I looked through a glaze.
When I finally arrived home, I saw my bus bouncing down the street in the great distance ahead. I turned to look at my house and gulped hard as two blue eyes glared back at me. Sweat ran down my face, and my chest heaved from lack of air. Although my feet stepped onto the pavement to cross the street, my brain screamed at me to continue running down the street.
The urge to throw up increased when Chuck stood only ten feet away. I could see the sweat on his red face now and his fists, clenched tight. I kept walking toward him, my body now shaking intermittently.
Chuck’s fists started to release. My throat went dry, trying to squeeze the life out of me before he had the chance. I had trouble breathing.
Chuck grabbed my braid and started yelling curses at me. My hand rose to my defense, fighting to keep my braid attached to my head.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Please don’t. I promise…” I begged, but my knees gave way, and he dragged me into the house.
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