When I had told my mother that I would come home for Christmas, she was elated and had screamed the news at my father, who sounded teary when I spoke to him. The entire train ride up to the north of England had me switching between anxiety and anger. Playing every scenario out in my head of what I would do if my parents had lied to me, and Tim was sitting in his usual seat at the dinner table. How would I react? What would I say? Would that be the moment that he showed the explicit pictures of me to my parents? Knowing Tim as well as I did, I wouldn’t put it past him to have had the images printed on the napkins. After the overload in my head had been managed, I then felt overwhelming anger. I was visiting my parents, and all I could imagine was how the environment could become unsafe.
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