A pen and blank piece of paper lay on the kitchen table in front of me. The paper lay blank, not because I didn't know what to write, but rather, I contemplated how to narrow down the thoughts flooding through my brain. I hung my head and closed my eyes and replayed the scene of Ivan overpowering me at the end of the bed with the other children, when I was a little girl. I pictured the faces of my own children and thought about their safety--still unsettled with suspicion, without proof, but wondering if they were victims also. (Read, The Best Part of a Bad Memory)
I picked up the pen and wrote a letter to Ivan. When I finished, I prayed the truth would be revealed and my family would remain safe no matter how Ivan responded. I mailed it. Then I waited.
Be safe. Be accurate. Be brave.