Jeff’s behavior grew worse. The tickle fights lasted too long, his fingers lingering in ways that felt wrong. He insisted on giving me baths because Mom “worked late.”

Everything shattered the day he cornered me in the garage. Mom was at work, and he’d been drinking all afternoon. “You’re becoming such a pretty girl,” he slurred, his hands clamping onto my shoulders, pushing me against the wall. “Let me show you something special.”