MY LESSON TEACHER MOLESTED ME, AND I HAVE LIVED WITH THE SHAME EVER SINCE- LADY SHARES HER PAINFUL STORY

I was just a kid wide-eyed, shy, and eager to learn.

My mother trusted him. Everyone in the neighborhood did.He was the “brilliant lesson teacher,” the one who helped children pass their exams.

Every afternoon, I’d sit at the dining table with my books spread open, pencil in hand, ready to solve equations. He’d smile and say, “You’re my brightest student.”

I believed him.

But one afternoon, the lesson changed.

He pulled his chair closer too close. His hand brushed my arm. I froze. He said it was an accident. I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe that grown-ups don’t hurt children.

But then, he did it again. And again.

Until his hand wasn’t just on my arm anymore and he started slipping his fingers inside my panties and I would feel pain.

He would open my shirt and place his tongue on my chest and carry my hands and place it on his trousers

I remember the smell of chalk dust and fear. I remember my heart racing so fast I could barely breathe. He whispered, “Don’t tell anyone… this is our little secret.”

Our secret.

Those two words became my prison.

For months, I carried the shame like a shadow. I stopped smiling. I stopped learning. Every sound of a pencil scratching paper reminded me of that table the one where innocence died.

When I finally told my mother, she cried like I’d been stolen from her because I had.

The police came. The neighbors whispered. But nothing could undo what he’d done.

Now, years later, I still struggle to call it what it was: abuse.

He wasn’t just a teacher. He was a thief and he stole something I can never get back.

But I tell this story now, not for pity but for every girl who’s been silenced by fear and shame.

If you’re reading this, please listen carefully:

It’s never your fault.

And secrets like that don’t belong to you they belong to monsters.