Sarah is only 16 years old, but she has already lived through an experience that most people cannot even imagine. She grew up in a violent home and saw her childhood torn apart by fear, threats, and abandonment. Now, with courage and determination, she breaks the silence by writing a letter to her father, Claudio Ratti, who caused so much pain to her family. This act is not only a cry of liberation, but also a promise: an invitation to him and to those who ignored her suffering to face the truth. She will soon turn 18, and as she herself wrote: “If you don’t apologize now, it will be worse for you.”

Sarah’s Full Letter

“Hi, It’s Sarah. I don’t know if you still remember me since it’s been eight years since you’ve seen me or wanted to see us, but I don’t care. I don’t know if you remember all the harm you did to us. I want to refresh your memory now that I’m no longer a caged bird afraid of you.

First of all, I remind you that next year I will turn eighteen, so if you don’t apologize now, it will be worse for you when I return to Italy because I will sue you for all the harm you’ve done and the lies you told in court. Then we will see who laughs… wait for me…

Now, let me take you back in time… maybe you’ve forgotten, but I haven’t. There are some things that can’t be forgotten, especially when one suffers trauma.

Now the real journey into darkness begins …

Do you remember when you sent mom to the hospital, and told us instead that she was the one who kicked you? Let me remind you that we were not and are not stupid. We saw it with our own eyes that it was exactly the opposite. And there is also the ER report that proves it. Do you remember that you left home that very day, and it was only in the evening that we received the email telling us that you were at your parents’ house? But that’s not all. You even left, stealing things from home. Mom paid for it too. Do you remember when you broke mom’s phone, who wanted to demonstrate your violent behaviour, forcing her to lock herself in the bathroom out of fear? Do you remember when you used to stalk us, parking your car outside the house? When you threatened us to call the Carabinieri if we didn’t come with you? Or when Chiara and I wanted to go to the pool, and you told us that you would call the police if we didn’t go with you? That day, we begged our grandmother to come with us. What about when you threatened to call social services to take us away from our mother, saying she was the one who hurt and beat us? Surely you forgot that…

Do you remember the day the Carabinieri came to our house to take you away? To defend yourself, you said that our mother beat us (which was certainly not true) and testified that the neighbour knew everything. You told and continue to tell lies about our mother, and I defended and will continue to defend her by telling the truth. Our grandmother was also there and she can testify. My sister was locked in the room, terrified. And until just before, you were telling mom, “I won’t leave here until you call a Carabinieri patrol!” I remember those words well. We were afraid that you would go into the kitchen and kill our grandmother, or us, or our mother. Mom, with trembling hands, was forced to call the Carabinieri and our relatives to take you away. When the Carabinieri arrived, they saw and heard everything, especially when you screamed like a madman. Do you remember that or not? Maybe you have forgotten that too. Let me refresh your memory. The Carabinieri arrived and took you away because you were upset, and told you not to come back. And the next day, Sergeant Ferri gave you a paper telling you not to approach the house, and as usual you did not comply. The Carabinieri immediately told mom to change the lock and not to open the door if you returned that night. I, my dear, remember everything. It was too much trauma. And when you experience trauma, you don not forget it so easily. Even if you are one hundred years old, you will always have it in your mind.

Do you remember when you came to Sierra Leone (we are talking about 2016, when we spent a year here and then returned to Italy before our permanent departure) and threatened my mother saying: “Now that your brother is gone, are you afraid that l will kill you?” We were afraid that you would kill us in the blink of an eye. We lived in fear at home, thinking that with every step we took, you we would following us and kill us.

In fact, do you remember when my uncle came to live with me, my sister, and my mom to protect us from you? Or do you think he came for a vacation? Just like when you think mom came to Africa for Peter. You’re terribly mistaken. You don’t know, but I begged my mom to take me and my sister to Africa. Certainly not for a vacation. We didn’t care about coming to Sierra Leone, meaning we had no good reason to come here, to move here, except to escape from the demon that you are. And by God’s grace, we came to this country because He protected us all these years and given us peace.

Now let me bring you to the present.

Remember when you took away our passports? Well, you thought you were depriving us of our freedom, but we’re stronger than you. Now we have a temporary passport thanks to your wickedness.

Do you remember when mom sold part of the house, and you put her name on the check knowing she was no longer a resident of Italy, so that Grandpa couldn’t collect the money? I know all your petty tricks and nastiness, the hatred you harbor, the violence you commit, and the evil that will devour you.

When you stole the 60,000 euros from us for the moral damage we supposedly caused you… let me remind you that you caused us moral damage, not us to a coward like you.

Now let me take you to June, when you had mom convicted for your lies, and it was also Chiara’s birthday… try to think of what a lovely gift you gave her… maybe you didn’t care about her birthday… that was a day of tears for all of us. You, monster, were acquitted, and I would say we (because I don’t leave my mom alone after she left to save us) were condemned.

Maybe you don’t remember when I called you, and you answered me as if I were a stupid little girl. Look, the only stupid one here was and still is you. Not a 16-year-old girl, turning 17 in December.

I just want to say a few last things:
I give you two options. Either you tell the whole truth to everyone: the court, the relatives, and to my family, and remove the sentence against my mother, or when I come to Italy next year, the first thing I’ll do is change my last name because I’m ashamed to have a liar’s last name, and then I’ll sue you. First, I’ll report you, and then I’ll take back all the money you stole from us, and then we’ll see if you still laugh. So, it will be trouble for you.

And then I tell you this: I don’t want your apologies. They would just be empty words. A father doesn’t apologize like that (just for the sake of it) after causing trauma to me and my sister. Besides, you haven’t even thought of apologizing to us yet.

And don’t talk about my dear mother who, on that day, May 12, 2017, took the courage to save the life of my sister and me by taking us to Africa, specifically Sierra Leone, which you knew, although you claimed you didn’t know where we were… so that you even lied under oath. Do you remember that May 12th was a Friday? You called us: “But girls, where are you?” And I told you that we were in Freetown. Maybe you forgot, but I still have those words in my head. I remember it like it was yesterday. When we landed, I said with tears in my eyes: “Mom, we’re finally free.” If we had stayed in Italy, by now we would have been dead by now or adopted by another family because you were not fit to be our father.

You never came to visit us. The only thing you did was to call us and falsely say, “Hi, my love, I miss you.” You are not a real father. A real father listens to his daughters, tries to be with them, tries to understand what happened, tries to find out if he did something wrong. You are like a dog who leaves his wife for others without taking the responsibility of being the father of two beautiful daughters aged 8 and 6 (ages we were). Think about it: two daughters who grow up without a biological father at their side. We had an extraordinary mother, and God sent us Peter to protect us and take care of us. Peter was a father to us, not you, who are just selfish and only think about harming and going on nice trips with your new woman, who is also older than you by who knows how many years. Aren’t you ashamed? I told my friends about you, and they laugh at you      . They call you the “sugar baby”… who knows, maybe you even take orders from her…

But I want to go on and continue shouting the truth to you.
You don’t support us. The only money you give us is 250 euros each for me and my sister. What are we supposed to do with your little money? Mom has always supported us: school, medical expenses (when we were sick). You had the audacity to tell mom when we were sick: “Ask your parents, they have money.” The only help we received was from our maternal grandparents because our paternal ones, whom I can’t even call grandparents, have always been complicit in your cruelty. And then my dear uncle, especially him… who always protected us from everything, never leaving us alone and helping us in every problem and difficulty. He was the one who dried our tears together with Peter, because you were too busy hurting us. My sister and I are very grateful to have a family that loves and protects us from you.

You say our mother makes us live in poverty, but you never bothered to come and see where we live, what we do, and the school we attend. I remind you that we attend a Cambridge-certified international school, and in April, I’ll take the IGCSE exams, and if you don’t know what that is, Google it. I just tell you it’s an international exam.

I’m sorry that all the statements I made to the Italian Consulate here in Freetown, you and the court refused to take them as evidence. Because you were afraid. Because you knew my words would destroy all your accusations against my mother. Shame on you, and shame on you as a father… actually, I can’t even consider you or call you a  father.

My mother has always taught me not to hate and not to hate you. But I don’t want to have anything more to do with you. She tells me to forgive you. I now just want to expose you.

And now, if you want, report me too.“

Sarah’s letter is a powerful document, an act of denunciation that encompasses years of suffering, fear, and anger. Several significant themes emerge within it:

1. Violence and Emotional Scars
The letter not only recounts violent incidents but highlights the psychological impact the father had on Sarah and her entire family. The physical and psychological violence they endured, told with rawness, are not just a series events of the past, but scars they still carry. Sarah has not forgotten a thing: every act of violence, every threat, is etched in her memory like a trauma that’s hard to erase.

2. Betrayal of the Authorities
Despite numerous reports and her mother’s support, Sarah feels betrayed by the justice system and the authorities. Her words, which could have changed the course of events, were ignored. This gap between lived reality and the authorities’ reaction reflects the frustration of a girl who sees her suffering unrecognized.

3. Sarah’s Courage and Determination
Despite her young age, Sarah isn’t afraid to openly denounce her father. Her determination to reveal the truth is clear. In a family context where she has often been the silent victim, Sarah now refuses to remain quiet. Her act of denunciation is also a cry of liberation, not just for herself, but for all victims of violence who have no voice.

4. The Father Figure
Claudio Ratti is described as a distant, indifferent figure devoid of responsibility. He is not just a father who abandoned his daughters and continues to inflict pain, but also a man who tried to conceal his guilt behind a facade of love and a good father. Sarah does not accept this falsehood and wants to expose and reveal the truth: a father who never truly tried to protect or support his daughters but allowed the system and the people around him to be deceived by his lies.

5. The Strength of a Mother
Viviana, Sarah’s mother, emerges as a central and decisive figure in the path to freedom for her daughters. Despite the enormous difficulties, her strength enabled Sarah and Chiara to find refuge and an opportunity for life away from violence. The affection, protection, and sacrifice of a mother who put her life aside to ensure a better future for her daughters are a beacon in an otherwise dark context.

In Conclusion

Sarah’s letter represents an act of justice and truth. It is not just a personal denunciation, but a universal message against violence, manipulation, and abandonment. Her promise to return to Italy and report her father is not a threat: it is a commitment to fight for the truth and to seek justice for herself, her sister Chiara, and her mother Viviana.
Her strength, at just 16 years old, is exemplary and serves as an example to anyone living in a similar situation: one must never stop searching for the truth and fighting for a better future. Domestic violence cannot and must not be ignored. Authorities must listen to the voices of victims, and fathers must be ready to take responsibility for their actions. Sarah’s words are a call to never forget who we are and not to allow pain to be hidden in silence.
Despite her trauma and suffering, Sarah has chosen to make her voice a cry of hope for those who are facing the same struggles, and a call to action for those who can make a difference. Her fight is not just for justice, but for truth, freedom, and dignity.

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