I did my best to look at the ground and pretend like I hadn't heard, and I kept pretending for the next 12 years. Even though I didn’t want to be called a liar, the secret lie I kept to myself still came to define me in so many ways — until I was 22 and finally found the courage to tell someone about it. I told my best friend, Layne, one of the young women who had been brave enough to testify about what our piano teacher had done to her. I thought she'd be angry that I'd lied, but the opposite was true. When I told her, we cried together. She was the one person who could understand. I didn't go to the police, because by the time I was ready to speak out about what had happened, it was too late for my testimony to make any difference. Still, telling Layne felt like a waterfall rushing out of me. It was the first step of a long journey I took toward forgiving myself.It doesn’t weigh me down anymore, but I still carry the lie with me. It reminds me of the danger I felt and the regret that came later. I have since written a memoir, Cinderland , which explores the fallout of my decision — my decision to stay quiet, to not speak out about what happened to me. My book has prompted other young women who have been sexually assaulted to ask me many questions: Was writing about it cathartic? Was telling the truth scary? Did I shut down emotionally when I got backlash?What they don’t ask is why the victims weren’t believed by so many in my town, why I lied, or why I feared for my safety and acceptance in my community. They don’t ask because they already know. They understand why I felt the need to lie and why I came to regret it later. They understand that sometimes, we don’t have much of a choice at all in the choices we have to make.People often want to know if my piano teacher went to jail. He did, for about a year. After that, most of his victims, myself included, saw him around town all the time.