For four years, Lauren, now 21,
was horribly abused by a woman who was
supposed to take care of her.
My parents worked a lot when I was growing up in Miami, Florida, so we always had a live-in nanny. In August 1997, when I was 12, my sister, Samantha, was 10, and my brother, Chase, was 5, my parents hired a new nanny named Waldina Flores. “Waldy” was 29 and seemed really cool: She would let me stay up late, and took my side when I fought with my sister. It was great always having her around—she was sort of like a fun second mom.
SHOCKING TURN
One night during my Christmas break that year, Waldy and I were talking in her room. I was chewing gum loudly, so Waldy said, “Lauren stop that smacking.” But I didn’t. “Fine, I’ll do it for you,” she continued. “Go ahead,” I said, laughing. The next thing I knew, Waldy grabbed my head, stuck her lips onto mine, forced her tongue in my mouth—and then pulled out my gum with her tongue! What is she doing?! I wondered in shock. I’d never been kissed on the lips before, but it felt like she’d just kissed me. Why would she do that? I turned around and ran to my room. I felt so uncomfortable with what she’d just done. I wondered if I should tell my parents, but it was just so bizarre, I didn’t know what I’d say. So instead, I tried to forget about it.
The next day, the first moment we were alone, Waldy turned to me and gently said, “Lauren, I love you, and people who love each other kiss like that.” I felt like Waldy did love me—like my mom did—so I should believe her. I mean, why would she lie to me?
That night I helped Chase get ready for bed. Most nights Waldy and I curled up with him until he fell asleep, so as Chase drifted off, I wasn’t surprised to see her walk in. She lay down behind me—and slowly reached up my nightgown. What’s going on? I thought, panicking. Then she touched my breasts, and I got even more tense. I didn’t want to say anything and freak Chase out, so I just prayed that she’d stop. But then Waldy reached into my underwear and stuck her finger inside my vagina! Now I was terrified. I wanted to scream, but I was frozen.
After 15 minutes of Waldy silently touching me like that, she left the room. I lay there, shaking, until I worked up the nerve to confront her. “Why did you do that?!” I asked as I stormed into her room. “It’s good for you—you should know what to expect when you have a boyfriend,” Waldy calmly explained. What?! I thought. But then I hesitated: Maybe she was right. I mean, I had never had a boyfriend, and Waldy was an adult with experience, so maybe she should teach me about sex. I walked out and didn’t tell anyone. I figured now that I knew what to expect from boys, Waldy wouldn’t have to show me again.
TERRIFYING CYCLE
The next night, when my parents were still at work and Samantha and Chase were watching TV, Waldy asked me to come into her room. As soon as I did, she came up to me—and started to take off my clothes. “No!” I cried. Waldy picked up her brush and began beating me hard on the back of my neck, screaming, “Don’t you love me?!” she was scaring and hurting me, so I said yes, hoping she’d stop. She put the brush down, pushed me on the bed—and began performing oral sex on me. Suddenly my brain shut off, and my body went numb—I wasn’t even crying anymore.
After Waldy stopped and left me there, I wanted to tell my parents, but I was too ashamed: Since I hadn’t told them as soon as it all started, would they think I’d wanted Waldy to touch me? Would they think I was gay? What if Dad got really mad, attacked Waldy, and went to jail? I couldn’t risk all that—so I just kept quiet.
DEVASTATING TRUTH
Every day for the next four years, Waldy continued to forced me to have sex—she’d even make me shower in front of her. If I tried to fight back, she’d beat me. I tried to act happy at school and around my parents, so they wouldn’t suspect anything. But when I was 16, after four years of abuse, I stopped wanting to eat dinner with my family or to talk to them at all—I guess it got too hard for me to pretend. Mom began worrying and asked me to see a therapist. So I went: If I had an appointment, at least I could be away from Waldy.
Still I was so afraid of Waldy’s temper, I told my therapist that I was just under stress at school. But then three weeks later, Waldy came up to me in my room. “Lauren,” she said, “when you turn 18, I want to marry you.” I was so shocked, I just stared at her. “What, you don’t want to?!” she screamed—and then she grabbed my desk chair and threw it at me. That was when I realized I couldn’t live like this anymore: Waldy wanted to ruin my entire life! So I ran out and drove to my therapist’s office. “Waldy’s been forcing me to have sex with her,” I told him. He looked shocked. “I’m legally bound to tell your parents,” he said. I was still so scared of how they’d react, but I agreed—as long as I didn’t have to tell both of them at the same time and deal with their reactions all at once. My therapist called my dad, and he came in. “How did I not see this?” Dad asked, sobbing, as I told him my story.
After the session, my father drove me to a friend’s house—and went home to kick Waldy out. She was arrested, charged with sexual battery, and, after pleading guilty, sentenced to 15 years in jail. But I still couldn’t escape her: Waldy kept writing me letters from jail saying that she loved me.
In May 2004, my dad and I helped pass a law in Florida making it illegal for sexual abusers to contact their victims. It took months of legal work—and almost four years of therapy—to feel free of Waldy. But today, with Waldy in jail and now unable to contact me, I’m no longer living in fear. And I’ve even learned that I’m able to have a healthy, happy relationship. I’m currently dating a great guy, Kris—and we plan to get engaged soon!