“Jeffrey is a policeman.” Sara put her hand to her chest. “I know that.” “You’re so beautiful,” Tessa said. “And you’re smart and you’re funny and you’re tall.” Sara laughed so that she wouldn’t cry. “And this time twelve years ago, you were raped,” Tessa finished. “I know that.” “He sends you postcards every year, Sara. He knows where you live.” “I know that.” “Sara,” Tessa began, a begging quality to her voice. “You have to tell Jeffrey.” “I can’t.” Tessa stood firm. “You don’t have a choice.”
