I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the moonlight spilling through the window. The soft beams look so peaceful, like they belong to a world that isn’t ours. Not anymore. Not since Dad went away.
It’s my fault. I know that now.
I hear Tim breathing softly in the next room, and I hug my knees to my chest. The guilt twists in my stomach, making it hard to sit still, hard to breathe. It should be me there, not Dad. If I’d just spoken up sooner, if I hadn’t been so scared, maybe things would’ve turned out differently. But I was too afraid—afraid of what people would say, afraid of what would happen to us. And now Dad’s paying for it. He’s the one locked up in that awful place, all because I couldn’t handle the truth.
Papa tells us everything’s going to be okay. He says it every day, like
