ADVERTISEMENT
Sixteen, nearly seventeen.
Kinder than the people who had taught him pain.
Wiser than the adults who should have protected him.
“Yes,” I said. “Sometimes.”
He leaned back against the couch.
“But only if they admit what they did.”
I smiled.
“Exactly.”
The next Christmas Eve, we did not go to my parents’ house.
That was my decision first, then Caleb’s.
My mother continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT
