Gisella discovers that her childhood still haunts her adult life: through abandonment, abuse, and ever-changing living conditions, Gisella was forced to make the most of her life long ago in foster care.
In this three-part story, a young woman must work to create the life she wants.
Through denial, attempts to feel deserving of love, finding out who she really is, and the aggressive and traumatic confrontation of her abuser, Gisella strives to be the best woman she can be.
Genre: FICTION / GeneralGisella is newly published.
However, I have over 2800 translated copies of my books sold in less than a year and trying to grow this with each new book.
“Daddy!” she screamed, her young voice shrill. “Daddy!” Her eyes were wide as she was unwillingly lifted up into the arms of a stranger. Her father was slumped in their dirty, worn sofa. His head dropped into his hands; he didn’t look up. She stretched her arms out towards him, but it was to no avail; he didn’t budge, didn’t move a muscle. As she looked over the stranger’s shoulder, she watched her father recede in the dimly lit room, surrounded by drab furnishings and scattered clothes and belongings.
A creaking door, and then the blinding sunlight took her father from her line of sight. She was a scrawny, grubby, undersized seven-year-old when the welfare department deemed it in her best interest to be taken away from her inadequate parent. She’d never known her mother, who had coldly given birth and walked away from her without ever holding or touching her.
But her father was her world and the love of her young life. At the age of seven, she didn’t see the poverty or filth that they lived in. She hadn’t been bothered by the lack of playthings or designer clothes. It was 1964, and the only person that mattered was her dad.
Some days, he would go to work, and when he came home, he would smell of car oil and grease. She wouldn’t care that he hugged and held her with his dirty hands before letting her play horse with him around the yard. “Come on, Daughter; I’m thirsty,” he would say predictably.
“Can I make a moustache, please, Daddy?” It was her favourite part of the day.
Striding into the house, Gisella’s smaller legs were eager to keep up so she wouldn’t miss out. Hearing the hiss from the can, she jumped around her dad. “Sit still, or I’ll spill the lot.”
| Language | Status |
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Vera Nogueira
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Spanish
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Maria Herrera
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