Grandma
My safety zone growing up was my Grandparents house. I would spend weekends there at least once a month. I could actually sleep without nightmares. I would hear my Grandpa snoring in the next room and that was the most comforting sound. We would go to church on Sunday and then out for breakfast afterwards. I felt so safe there. I knew without a doubt that they loved me and I trusted them, they were the only ones that I trusted. About a week after Mom found out about the molesting, I went to spend the day with Grandma. Grandpa wasn’t there that day. I was helping Grandma in the kitchen when she turned to me and said, “How could you say something so terrible about your Dad”? She then preceded to tell me about what a good man he was and how much he loved and had done for us. My heart broke. Here was the only person on the planet that I had trusted. I don’t know what Mom told her. Obviously, she said that I had made it up and Grandma believed her. That was the last time that I had ever fully trusted anyone again. If Mom and Grandma wouldn’t believe me, then who would? I never said a word about what happened in my house to anyone after that. 25 years later I got up the courage to discuss this with Grandma. She apologized and I forgave her, but the damage had already been done.