My mother was famous for her stories. This one is mine

My stepfather sexually abused me as a child. When I finally told my mother, she broke my heart

- ANDREA ROBIN SKINNER

In 1976, I went to visit my mother, Alice Munro, for the summer at her home in Clinton, Ont. One night, while she was away, her husband, my stepfather, Gerald Fremlin, climbed into the bed where I was sleeping and sexually assaulted me. I was nine years old. I was a happy child active and curious who had only just realized I couldn't grow up to be a sheep-herding dog, a great disappointment, as I loved both dogs and sheep.

The next morning, I couldn't get out of bed. I'd woken up with my first migraine, which developed over the years into a chronic, debilitating condition that continues to this day. I longed to go home, back to Victoria to be with my father, Jim Munro, my stepmother, Carole, and my stepbrother, Andrew.

On the day I finally did fly home, Fremlin took me to the airport by himself. My mother was busy. In the car, he asked me to play a game called "show me." When I said no, he made me tell him about my "sex life," prying me for details of innocent games I played with other children. Then he told me about his sex life.

Back in Victoria, I told Andrew what had happened, trying to make ajoke of it. He didn't laugh. He said I should tell his mother right away. I did, and she told my father, who decided to say nothing to my mother.

I was relieved at first that my father didn't tell her what had happened to me. She had told me that Fremlin liked me better than her, and I thought she would blame me if she ever found out. I thought she might die. As relieved as I was, my father's inability to take swift and decisive action to protect me also left me feeling that I no longer truly belonged in either home. I was alone.