My mother often told me, “Don’t sit on Grandpa’s lap.” I never understood why. One day, I didn’t listen to her and sat down anyway. Grandpa smiled, leaned close to my ear, and whispered, “Can you come sleep beside me tonight?”

“Can you come sleep beside me tonight?”

I froze.

“What?”

He only smiled.

“Don’t tell anyone yet. Especially your mother.”

At that exact moment, Mom walked back into the room.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.”

I don’t know why I lied. But on the drive home, I couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Grandpa told me something.”

My mother was driving. Her expression immediately became serious.

“What did he say?”

I repeated Grandpa’s words.

For several seconds, Mom said absolutely nothing. Then she pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Her reaction frightened me more than Grandpa’s words had.

“He said exactly that?”

I nodded.

“And he told you not to tell me?”

Again, I nodded. Mom closed her eyes.

“Oh my God…”

“Mom, what’s happening?”

She turned toward me.

“You are not going anywhere tonight. You stay right beside me.”

When we got home, Mom called my aunt. From the hallway, I could only hear pieces of the conversation.

“…he said it to Lily…”

Silence.

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