When the Adults Failed
My son stood up, rage shaking his voice.
“Dad, I told you three months ago.”
Conrad stuttered. “I didn’t—I thought—”
“Grandpa,” my son continued, turning toward him, “you laughed and said I was a lucky boy.”
The old man’s face drained of color.
“Aunt Fen, you told me not to be dramatic.”
Fen backed toward the door, tears streaming.
“Oh God…”
“Uncle Potter,” my son said next, “you told me I should be grateful.”
Potter buried his face in his hands.
“Jesus Christ… I thought you were joking.”
Then my son looked at his grandmother.
“You said boys can’t be raped by women.”
She collapsed back onto the couch, clutching her rosary.
Whispering prayers.
