My initial reaction was: nothing. I had to ask my mom if she was ok (her brother), and that felt like a sick joke. She said she was glad, and I'm starting wonder if he molested her too.

I told my dad and he said "good."

My older brother (by 7 years) asked me if I was ok.

My reaction now is two fold; relief and confusion.

Relief because every time I see a yellow semi truck (which he drove for work) I don't have to have a mini panic attack and wonder if it's him. I don't have to wonder if all new unknown numbers are him (he has tried to contact me since I turned 18, succeeding twice.) And I can let go of the guilt for not telling anyone. I can forgive my five year old self for being afraid. I can move on from fear.

Then there's confusion; it's almost as if everyone who knew him knew what he did. I was a 5 when this happened to me, and I barely remember it. It feels like my mother and my father knew what he was, but they allowed me to be alone with him. If they knew, why didn't they make sure I was ok? Why did we all sit in silence and pretend this thing never happened?

I don't know, ladies. I guess it's still complicated.