Why… Just… WHY? You… You’re my SON. My boy, my child. Yes, no matter how old you are, you’re still MY CHILD. You came from me. I mothered you. I taught you nearly everything you know and do… and how you act. Why did you have to go there? THERE? We were just watching TV. Family movie night. Me, you, your dad. We were having fun. Joking around. Having a good ol’ time. And that foot massage… that was amazing. But that was it. That SHOULD have been it. But it wasn’t. You went further. WHY! Why did you have to touch me inappropriately? And your father – my husband – wasn’t there, at first. But then, he was IN THE ROOM. And you… you STILL… you chose to TOUCH ME. I should have asked you to stop.
