Sam had told the world a half-truth because she knew that would be easier for them to believe. ‘Someone’ raped me was more palatable than that husband did it, that father, that son. That newsreader smiling at you through the television, that musician whose song you chose for the first dance at your wedding. It was easier to make monsters out of faceless strangers than the nice, ordinary men who worked in your office, who let you skip the line in the grocery store, who held the door open for you at the bank.
