“Apologize to your little sister,” our mother scolded. But Luke insisted he didn’t tug the back of my nightgown in the dark, didn’t cause my house-waking scream—and when I thought of those blazing white eyes floating above me when I’d rolled over, I knew my brother was not lying.
Robin LaVoie writes at It’s Like This. She lives in the suburbs of Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband and son, and still won’t sleep with her back to the door.
