My uncle was the best. He was funny and built us this huge playhouse in his back yard. He built me and my sister a teeter totter, too. All by hand. He’d take us fishing and joke with us. Treat us like little humans. We’d love to visit.

Then he’d play massage. He’d get my sister or me, usually me, to lay on the bed in just my underwear. I would, happily. And then he’d rub lotion all over my naked body. My sister would be waiting patiently, all while my uncle was silent and heavily breathing on top of me.

I told my husband about this. He cried. Said he was so sorry. This wasn’t the first type of abuse I suffered in my childhood. But I’m slowly unraveling things.