Grandma

You always asked me how I was. I always thought it was just another of those silly adult questions with a set response... only as I've grown, I think you genuinely wanted to know. But I couldn't tell you. You wanted to know what was going on at home and followed any hints I gave with care and cautious questions. But I couldn't answer. It's not because my father was always around, although he usually was. It's not because you accidentally got me 'in trouble' a few times, because my offense wasn't actually something normally punishable. Its because I was protecting myself. If I told, I would be in worse danger. I would very possibly end up dead before anyone could help me. I also didn't tell you because I was protecting you. As young as I was, I still wanted to keep you from the knowledge of the nightmare I lived in. And, I still do. That's why I still can't tell you, Grandma.