I can’t tell her she’s safe with me because she’s not. I can’t tell her I won’t hurt her, not while I’m holding her broken body in my arms. I can’t tell her I love her, not after I deceived her for so long. There’s nothing I can say, nothing I can do, and it makes me feel frustratingly powerless. As if he can feel the turmoil in my soul, my brother says what I can’t, “We’re almost there, little one. You’re safe now. You’ll feel better soon.”
