Kate Walker stared at a five by seven inch photograph mounted in a shiny silver frame, which sat prominently on her desk. It was a picture of four young girls with their arms around each other's shoulders, and their broad smiles aimed at the camera as they stood beside Mickey Mouse at Disneyland. Whenever she was having a bad day, she stared at the photo, because it never failed to make her smile. The photo was from the summer of 1986, when she was eight, and all arms and legs with front teeth the size of butter beans. Her three friends hardly resembled the sophisticated women they were today. Kristin Vaccaro, the oldest at fourteen, had a mouth full of braces. Claire Vaccaro, her best friend, was eight like herself, had knobby knees, and baby Annie Vaccaro, one, who clutched Kate like a koala bear gripping a tree, had a remnant of everything she ate that day on the front of her blouse. Shortly after the photo was taken, Kate's world changed, and the bliss she felt then eluded her ever since. The deep, emotional bonds Kate had with Claire and her sisters, Kristin and Annie, meant more to her than life itself. They were the only people in her life with whom she had any semblance of intimacy. No, having sex with men didn't mean she was intimate with them. Men borrowed her body, but her friends owned her heart and soul. Only in her relationship with the Vaccaro family, and her friendship with each sister, did she receive total acceptance and love. With Claire, she could always count on her honesty. Kristen was her source of strength. From Annie came unconditional love and adoration, because in Annie's eyes, Kate was perfect. Each of these women held a special place in Kate's life. They were her mother, sister, teacher, conscience, and role models. She loved and worshiped them, and thanked God every day for gracing her life with their presence. They would be with her every step of the way as she made the journey of healing from abuse as a child, to reaching her elusive dreams as a woman.