Sarah suddenly stood.
Her face was pale beneath the makeup.
“You think it was easy for me?” she said, her voice trembling. “You think I didn’t know what they were doing?”
I looked at her gently, and that seemed to hurt her more than anger would have.
“I know you knew,” I said.
The room tightened.
Sarah’s eyes filled.
“I was scared,” she whispered.
“So was I.”
Those three words ended something between us.
Not with hatred. With clarity.
Fear may explain silence, but it does not make silence harmless. There are wounds caused by cruelty, and there are wounds caused by people who watch cruelty happen and call it peace.
Sarah sat down slowly.
For the first time in my life, she looked less like the golden child and more like another prisoner of the same house.