It is so beautiful outside today. The tulips in my sister’s memorial garden are just beginning to rise. I find deep comfort sitting in her garden, gently swinging on her swing. Whenever I wish, I can still hear Amy’s laughter and voice. No one can ever take that from me.

A question arises often in conversations with others: Am I afraid? I suppose it’s natural for people to wonder, given that I am speaking out. But standing against darkness should never inspire fear. The only fear I carry is what will happen if I remain silent. Will the soul of my innocent niece one day mirror the pain my big sister endured?

I have come to believe that only the weakest of minds harm a child. Children are only as strong as the shields surrounding them. As a child, I was defenseless. My strength—when it came—derived from those who were meant to protect me.

Who decides who gets to be a child’s shield? Does simply giving birth grant someone the absolute right to decide whether a child will be protected? And when we know a child is unprotected, what is our responsibility?

Is it the state’s duty to intervene? Should a person in an office, far removed from the reality, decide a child’s fate? Has that official ever lived as an abused child? Do they truly understand the fears involved and the profound sensitivity required to help?

I witnessed children being abused, and I myself was denied basic nourishment in some of the foster homes where I was placed. Foster parents are often instructed not to love, not to show affection. Is this truly how we mend what is broken?

What will it take for those who have always been shielded to open their eyes? So many people knew I was being abused and chose to do nothing. They could have saved my sister. Regardless of their silence, I choose to move forward.

Do you wonder if I am afraid?

Surviving childhood abuse has shaped who I am. Those who hurt me may have wished I had not survived, but I did. In surviving, I became someone who no longer fears them. Instead, I have become someone they—and others like them—should perhaps fear in a different way. Not because I wish them harm, but because I will never again allow them near any child. Not ever. That is not too much to ask of anyone who has abused a child.

I have filed an appeal in my niece’s case. Since the judge ruled without reviewing the evidence, I hope we have a strong foundation. I have not heard from my niece at all since court, and my heart aches for her safety every single day.

Would you offer your shield to protect a child from abuse?

When I chose not to remain silent, I chose to become a beacon for change. That beacon grows brighter every day. I will not stop fighting to save my niece.

Evil and fear are old acquaintances for any abused child. But as an adult, my fear transformed into something else entirely. It fully awakened when I stood face-to-face with evil again. I can only describe it as a fierce, ferocious commitment to justice.