My mother was away on a long trip. I was on my tiptoes reaching for a cup on the high kitchen shelf when my stepfather’s firm chest pressed closely against me from behind. The weight of his body leaned slightly on me, his hot breath brushing my nape as he whispered: “This family… doesn’t always need your mother home for us to have a good time, right?”
I didn’t sleep. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling as the terrified, shrinking girl inside me died, making way for something colder. Something sharper. I realized tears were a luxury I could not afford. Running wasn’t an option; I had no money, nowhere to go, and fleeing would only allow him to spin a…
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