Maggie Meyers

I was always told that parents look out for you and that they are the only people in this dark, crazy world that we can trust.

The moment the priest walked through the door, he turned his nose up at the ceiling and a look of general distaste formed across his once expressionless face. He turned to look at my husband and I, but then caught himself and just nodded. “And who were the previous owners of this place?”

He yelled and drunkenly slurred something about, “One day you’re going to piss someone off with your little shenanigans and something bad is going to happen.”

That night I couldn’t sleep, as I heard screaming from the youngest, the female, and the distinguishable qualities of my Grandfather’s voice screaming obscenities as he clearly caused her pain for what I presumed were her evil actions.

We were finally getting a baby and afterwards, she could disappear for all I cared.

I suddenly realized that I had stumbled onto the website of thousands and thousands of rapists.

I went to the treehouse and Jeffrey was reading his comics again, smiling when he greeted me. “Can I come sleep over tonight?”

What his father said next before he hung up the phone and left me to my grief was what sent more chills up my spine, left so many unanswered questions running laps through my brain. It lives with me now, ten days later, makes it hard to sleep at night.

I quit way before I would have reaped any benefits for retirement, before official job security took care of me for the rest of my life.