I drive under the Clifton Hill bridge, into the early evening traffic towards cosy eastern suburb. the summer sun still lighting up the sky.
I am on 'auto-pilot. My mind is in another place, another time.
'Have you ever been sexually abused?
What had he meant when he asked that question? Why did he ask it?
At the time, I hesitated, just for a second, before answering, 'No." And he moved on to the next question. But it caught my breath. Like a fly in the sticky threads of a spider's web, my mind could not shake itself free.