When he touched me, he called your name.

Truth be told, it was more of a whisper. But he did say it.

And I purposely didn't tell you. A small stab of vindictiveness for when you screeched your disbelief at my accusations in front of the man who had me afraid to sleep at night. I don't for a split second consider our pain to be equal, but my heart smirked the slightest bit watching you die inside at the thought that your husband might have preferred your 14-year-old daughter to you.

It doesn't make it okay, but I guess it's comforting to know that even in his glue-sniffing stupor, your husband didn't see me when his lips were on mine. I was simply accessible. A door that wasn't locked because you wouldn't allow it to be. Because keeping me controlled was more important than keeping me safe.

Shockingly, those thoughts no longer upset me as much as they once did. Sure, I wrestled with the ugliness of forgiving you for the better part of a decade, but after a while, the overgrowth of nothingness won out. You made your choice, I can't change that. So I'm going to make you aware of a secret that I don't even think you realized.

You knew. You saw. In some deep part of your subconscious, you knew how he looked at me. The clothes at friend's houses for "just in case," telling me to get dressed behind my door, making me cover from my collarbone to my knees, you knew that I needed protecting. And yet you locked your door at night and sacrificed me to a monster. So when your worst fears were realized, you didn't know how to react. I know you. You blame yourself. It haunts you. I see you gagging on the "what-ifs" every time you look at the famliy I built for myself when it was clear I couldn't count myself to be part of yours.

Sadly, I can't tell you contrary. It was your fault. Not his actions, you can't control those. It's the choice you made afterward that falls on your shoulders. You could've stepped up, protected me, made the choice to put the safety of your child first. But you didn't. Nothing on earth can yank the hands of time back to undo that choice. And for that, I'm sorry. Because if you'd known that it would have cost you my love, I know you wouldn't have done it.

Just because I can't assuage your demons, doesn't mean I'm happy you're living with them. Guilt is a heavy, painful anchor.

But if we can talk one mom to another?

I know what you were trying to do. I know how hard you fought to find love. I know that I didn't have a track record of honesty, I don't know many teenagers who did. And I know you considered that. So in the end, you chose to protect your heart over me. You chose to let my sister grow up with her father. I respect your choice. Protect the younger, vulnerable one. Protect yourself. Even if that means throwing the problem child to the wolves.

I'm sorry you didn't see me as worthy of that sacrifice. As to where we would've been if you did, I can only speculate. I'm sorry you think that his love is the best you can do. It's not. I want you to know I don't hate you, or begrudge you the right you had to any choice you could've made. Maybe one day, when I can bring myself to spill the full truth in front of you, I'll include the little tidbit that I kept to myself all these years.

When your husband touched me, he asked for you.