Secrets are likes knives. Aren’t they? While some are dull, others can do quite a bit of damage. An innocent secret is not really meant to be kept quiet. It’s shared around the dinner table like a butter knife. Passed from sister to brother, shoulder to shoulder, mother to father. Spreading the truth, thick or thin. Then there’s a different sort. The dark kind. Like cleavers, they aren’t passed to anyone. They’re buried deep—silenced—but forever deadly.
