Then she told me everything.
The footsteps outside her door at the guest room.
The light appearing under the frame late at night.
The doorknob turning once, slowly, and then stopping.
The way she had started wedging a chair under the handle.
And why, eventually, she had decided that sleeping beside me was safer than sleeping alone in a room with a lock that didn’t feel like enough.
“He wouldn’t try anything with you there,” she said. “And if I was in your room, he couldn’t explain away being in the hallway at two in the morning. The witnesses matter. He’s not reckless — he’s careful.”I felt sick in the specific way you feel sick when something you should have seen has been in front of you the whole time.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Because everyone loves him,” she said. “Your mother. Thomas. You. I thought if I said something, the whole family would turn on me for ruining everything. I thought I would be the one who looked unstable.”
