The Secret Nobody Saw

 

At twelve years old, David should have been worried about homework or how to save up for a new football. But instead, every evening, he worried about the sound of his mother’s bedroom door opening.

She’d call him in with that soft, syrupy voice that used to mean warm hugs and bedtime stories. Now it only made his stomach twist. He’d stand by the door, hoping she’d change her mind, that tonight she’d just tell him goodnight. But she never did. When it started, he thought maybe it was normal. Maybe all mothers did strange things with their sons. But after each night, he’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, feeling like something inside him was breaking, something important he couldn’t name.

He stopped playing with his friends. He avoided looking anyone in the eye, afraid they might see the dirty secret he carried. Sometimes he scrubbed himself raw in the bath, hoping the shame would come off with the soap. It never did. One day at school, the counselor noticed he flinched when someone patted his back. She gently asked if he was okay. For a moment, David almost lied, the lie sat right on his tongue, ready to save him. But something in her kind eyes made him falter. His lip quivered. The tears came before the words did.

The counselor hugged him, told him over and over that it was not his fault. That he was brave for speaking. Later, people in serious suits came to talk. They promised he wouldn’t have to go back home for a while. That he’d be safe.

 David didn’t know what the future would be. He still woke up some nights in a cold sweat. But in the small room at the children’s shelter, he found a little comfort in the plain white walls. They had no secrets, no shadows waiting for him. And for now, that was enough.

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