Matthew sat on the edge of a plastic chair, his feet dangling. He looked so small, yet he had carried a mountain for six years. I knelt in front of him, my hands shaking.
“Matthew,” I whispered, “why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell the police?”
His lower lip trembled. “Uncle Ray told me he’d kill you, Sarah. He said the police were his friends and they’d help him bury you in the woods behind the house. He said… he said Dad died because he couldn’t keep a secret, and I had to be better at it.”
A cold chill washed over me. For six years, I had lived under the same roof as a monster, eating the food he bought with my father’s money, while he held a metaphorical gun to my little brother’s head.
