Pretending to be asleep, a girl lies in her bed dreading the sound of her door opening. If only, he will not come for her tonight. One night at a time, she hopes her father will fall asleep before thinking of her small body. Should she pray? Does God care?
After years of dread, terror, shame, and self-disgust, she feels something new stirring inside her: rage. Just last night, she realized her father did not open her door because he had gone to her younger sister’s room instead. No! She cannot, will not, allow him to do to her sister what he has done to her. She must tell someone, but who? What adult can she tell who will believe her but not blame her? Will her mother help now, but why now and not until now? What would her minister say if she were to tell him one his Sunday school teachers was doing what he did to her? If she tells, will life in their home get better or worse? Will her father just deny everything and try to make her look crazy or evil? Will her mother hate her?
In the darkness, she hears sounds all too familiar. He has gone to her sister’s room again. Against her will, she wishes he had come to her room instead.
But if either girl gets pregnant, the family must blame the helpless girl, accuse her of being with some boy, and insist she must have the baby in isolated shame. Because the conception will be, of course, God’s will. If only God, she thinks, would die and go away. Then she hates herself for such a terrible thought.