The rain came down softly on our faces as we sat near the edge of my family’s pond. All was silent but our thoughts; there are times when words are dangerous. As I watched the rain hit the water I thought of what was inside, what was waiting for me when I finally got the courage to go in and face it. I thought of all the nightmares, all the times I wanted to speak up but didn’t. I remember the family Christmas parties every year, putting on a happy and mostly honest front, yet unable to completely smother the anxiety and fear in the pit of my stomach. I remember trying to tell my mom what happened, finally getting the courage at a time when she was too preoccupied to listen. I remember the family reunions, following my parents around like a shadow, afraid to walk around alone.

I was five years old, how was I supposed to know that not everyone is like you? I’d always looked up to you; you were one of my favorite cousins. How was I supposed to know that when you wanted to play with me alone, I shouldn’t have followed? I was so innocent back then, the ultimate joy in life was getting a new Barbie® doll. How could you take that away from a little girl? Although I was too young to completely understand what you did, I grew up a lot that day.

Because of you, I’ve spent years nursing scars that no doctor can see. I’ve spent countless nights reliving that day, so long ago now that I hardly know what the truth is anymore. I have been forced to smile and give you a hug almost every year when you come to visit, and for a long time I hated you for it. Finally, I have found peace. I found someone that I can trust with the awful truth, and I know he will be with me every step of the way. As I think of this, I turn to the boy next to me and smile. He smiles back, and takes my hand. Together we walk into the house, and the rain comes down softly on our backs.