She’s the girl you see every day, always smiling with those sweet dimples and big puppy-dog brown eyes. She’s the well-kept girl who seems to have it together on the surface, a display she puts on for good measure. Good grades. Always courteous to others. She’s such a good girl, a fine little lady, helpful and amiable. Those fake, toothy smiles come at a cost—a cost she must pay. Imagine living such a secret life that you can’t trust a soul, including yourself. Imagine having to hide scars visible to the surface but that run so deep your body cries for you while you hide behind a facade of happiness. Imagine the anger that must build while you bottle up trauma; being abused, molested, abandoned; just imagine. And what if, that’s not the worst of it? Those scars—they each have names, faces, reasons—and you hate every one of them. Her name is Anna. Her story—you don’t know it yet, but you will.