There is a monster under my bed. I’ve never seen it, but I know it’s there. I ask my mother if she has ever seen it. She tells me that they are my imaginations. I also asked my sister. She says that she has seen it. But my mother never lets her talk about it. I think it’s because I’m adopted. There are days that I wake up with sore hands. Also somedays my mother and my sister have bruises on their faces and arms. The days pass and the blows are transformed into wounds. I ask my mother what is going on. She does not answer me. When I get up few days later, my hands are full of blood. I go to the kitchen and I see my mother on the floor, crying. Next to her, there is my sister, dead. She will take me back to the adoption center. I understand it now. The monster was always me.