The Venetian blinds bar all but the smallest slivers of light through. The ceiling lamp has been broken for years. There are footsteps coming up from downstairs. My stomach turns. Soon, the shadow of two feet block out light from the crack beneath the door, and as it opens, light spreads across the floor, but his giant silhouette never allows it to reach the bed where I lay. My body is wrapped in his gray comforter, but nothing is covered that will not be uncovered soon enough. I feel…

Was this sexual abuse?