We Should Not Speak of Such Things
My Life Should Have Come with Trigger Warnings
Trigger warning: This article contains sensitive content about physical and sexual abuse and may upset some readers.
We should not speak of such things.
Grandma would roll over in her ashes, and Mom would feel something close to embarrassment, shame, and guilt. I think.
Probably anger.
If you are my sister, you probably should NOT read this. You definitely should not read this. I love you. Scroll away.
Now.
It didn’t happen.
Nothing ever happened.
Maybe my story is fiction.
She’s always the favorite. Mom loves her the best. Teachers adore her. The boys all crush on her. She’s perfect.
It’s no surprise she’s his favorite, too.
“You were gone forever. What did you do in there?”
She walks out of his room, head hung so that her long, stringy brown hair shades her face — cloaking her tears.
“You don’t want to know. Don’t ask me again.”
She shoves past me to lay in her bed, even though it’s daytime.
