Becca loved this lake. Summer or winter—it didn’t matter. When she was a little girl, her datt bought her and her brother ice skates and they’d spent many a winter afternoon playing hockey. By spring, she could skate faster than any of her Amish friends, even faster than her older brother. He hadn’t liked being shown up by a girl. But her datt would laugh and clap his hands and tell her she could fly. His praise, such a rarity, always made her feel special. Like she mattered and her achievements, regardless of how small, were important.

The lake became her special place, her hideaway from the rest of the world, away from her troubles. It was the place where she learned to dream. No one could catch her when she was on the ice. No one could touch her. No one could hurt her.

Only he had.

When Becca was nine years old, her brother found her sitting on the stump, lacing her skates. He’d knocked her down and ground her face into the snow, and then he took her right there on the frozen bank. And from that day forward, Becca knew she was doomed.

Later, when her mamm asked about the cut on her cheek, Becca told her what her brother had done. It wasn’t the first time and, as always, Mamm blamed Becca. You should have fought harder. You should have prayed more. You should be more forgiving. She ended the conversation by asking Becca to confess her sins to the bishop.

The memory brought tears to Becca’s eyes. How could her brother’s actions be her fault? Had she somehow tempted him? Was there something wrong with her? Was God punishing her for being unable to forgive? Or was this simply her lot in life?

Snow crunched beneath her shoes as she made her way across the ice. Becca was nearly to the center of the lake when she stumbled over a fissure and went to her hands and knees. The cold bit into her skin with the intensity of a thousand blades. She knew it was stupid, but she began to cry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to be scared, and she hadn’t expected to feel so alone.

A little voice reminded her it wasn’t too late to turn back. Her warm bed in her little attic bedroom waited for her at home. Mamm and Datt didn’t have to know she’d ventured out. But Becca knew there were other things waiting for her at home. Bad things that had been happening to her since she was three years old, when her brother had slipped his hand into her panties and told her not to cry.