Hot water blasts, blanketing the ceiling in mist. I strip away clothes and disappear into the steam of my glass sanctuary. The humming vent offers a second buffer of noise. Only then do I release emotions that’ve panged me since reading the letter Mommy unwittingly posted on my anonymous advice blog, Dear Esencia.
Sadness pierces my heart. Confusion and anger grip my throat. I exhale choking sounds as tears stream down the drain. How the hell does Mommy think Esencia can help her when she didn’t follow my advice in the first place?
Her words hit with blunt force and swirl through my mind like dizzying stars: Esencia, you warned me about reuniting with “a ghost from my past”. . . I did it . . . he still knows how to collapse my defenses just by clutching my back . . . I was aroused . . . he stole a kiss . . . my gut clenches when I think of him . . . maybe it’s guilt for fantasizing about the life we could’ve shared . . . I’ve betrayed my husband . . . Help me!
I never imagined what began as a college lit project nearly twenty years ago would become the portal to a family scandal. A description of the “ghost” from her past seemed eerily similar to the man I know as my uncle. I suspect the event she said he’s coming in town for is actually my brother’s reception. I should’ve blocked her the moment I recognized the childhood nickname she thought would conceal her identity, but my interest was peaked. Now I’m caught between knowing and doing nothing, or helping anonymously while pretending nothing’s wrong.
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