Pretty late to the thread, but here it goes:
TL;DR: My grandfather groomed and molested me for months when I (female) was 10-11 yrs old (in 2010).
Due to money problems, we were living with my mom's parents at their house. There was only one bedroom that our family all shared. I would sleep on the bed in between my grandparents, and my mom and baby sister slept on a foldable bed next to it. My dad lived in another city due to work.
At night, my grandfather would keep talking to me after everyone went to sleep, asking me riddles and puzzles, etc, which I had always enjoyed solving. Then a few days later, he started asking me if he could scratch my back. I found it really odd, so I didnt really react or reply, but then he began lightly pressuring me, so I said OK because I had no idea what else to say, I was worried that he'd get mad at me and throw our family out or something. So then he would do that. First few days over my shirt, and then he'd slide it up and do it on my skin.
I was really uncomfortable, but now I had no idea how to say no to him. He continued doing it for a few weeks. Then one night, I pretended to fall asleep and cocooned myself in the blanket before doing so.
After everyone fell asleep, he called my name a few times and then he pulled my pillow towards himself, which if I were asleep would have dragged me along with it; however, I stayed in the exact place I was on before.
He then tried to find the ends of the blanket I was wrapped up in and when he failed to do so, I guess he let it be and fell asleep.
I continued doing the same thing every night, completely terrified of going to sleep, to the extent where I was probably only sleeping like 3 hours a night, that too extremely light - the slightest noise startled me. He would check every night and try to unwrap me from the cocoon, but if he got close to doing so, I would pretend like I was waking up and mumble loud enough so that it could potentially wake up others in the room. He would stop immediately then.
After some time, I guess he figured out I was pretending to sleep, so he stopped doing it. And slowly, I started to believe that maybe this is it, maybe this is the end. He won't do it anymore.
I started to finally be able to sleep properly after a few weeks.
Until, one day, I woke up in the middle of the night because I felt something was touching my skin. Still half asleep, I thought it was a slug of some sort so I grabbed it and threw it off of me. The adrenaline rush of feeling like some bug was on me got me fully awake. And I realized that it wasn't a slug, but my grandfather's finger which was touching my breast.
I don't even know when I fell asleep that night, but apparently I did, because I woke up the next day feeling extremely horrible. I went to storage room, into a cabinet (I had discovered this hiding place when I was much younger, and now could barely fit, and broke down into tears.
I had no idea how I was supposed to tell anyone, and would they ever even believe me, what could I even do, and how was I supposed to stop all this.
Since he'd asked me the first time when he touched me on the back and I had said ok, I felt that it was my fault. And since it was my fault, how was I supposed to tell anyone.
I had no idea how long he had molested me for, because I had been sleeping heavily for weeks as school had begun and also probably because I had barely slept in the weeks before.
I had had enough, so then began to go to sleep with my grandma in the middle of the bed and me on one side and grandpa on the other, using the random excuse that I wanted to sleep closer to my baby sister.
The next year, we moved to live with my father in the city where he worked at.
I didn't tell anyone what happened for the next 5 years, staying normal when we visited them, because I felt that they might not believe me, and if they did maybe they would think it was my fault or if they didnt think it was my fault, it'd be my fault for breaking the family apart, until my sister turned the age that I was when this happened to me.
I was terrified that he'd do the same to her, and because I would be leaving to go to a hostel that year for school, I wouldn't be there to protect her if my family decided to visit the home of my grandparents while I wasn't home.
After multiple secret panic attacks, I finally broke down in front of my mother and told her everything. I had a nervous breakdown and was screaming and crying so my dad came to check on us and I finally managed to tell them what had happened. I asked them to swear to me that they wouldn't take my sister near him while I was gone.
My mother called my grandpa and talked to him about what happened, and to his credit, he didn't deny it and call me a liar.
Nothing really happened though, other than me never visiting him ever again. Although it was tough, for the sake of my grandmother my mom and dad didn't break off our relationship with them. My grandmother kept trying to convince me to forgive him. Once, my parents tried to hold a meet between me and my grandparents. The moment I saw his silhouette enter the restaurant where we were already seated, I had a panic attack to the extent where I hid under the table right there in the middle of dinner time at a working restaurant. That's what I'd always do - hide under the nearest table or bed, etc. whenever I had a panic attack.
He died of COVID this year. I have very mixed feelings about that. For half my life, I loved him, and for the other half, I hated him.
When we got news that the condition was getting serious, my parents decided to go to my grandparent's city. As my parents were leaving the house, my mom called a video call to my grandma, and had my sis and I talk to him. I saw him properly for the first time in maybe 5-6 years through this video call, not realizing it was his death bed at that time. He was wearing an oxygen mask, tubes all around. He had grown so much older in the last 5 years. He still had a kind-looking and smiling resting face. My mom got her eyes from him.
My mom begged me to forgive him as this may be the last time I ever get to tell him that. I had never experienced a death in close family and friends before, so I couldn't really even picture it. I still felt that he'd pull through and be fine after this, so I half-heartedly told him I hope he gets better soon and that I forgive him, without looking him in the eye. He wished me good luck for my future and gave me his blessings. His voice was very rough and raspy. He'd always had a very strong and powerful voice, so this was very different.
The next day, my parents reached my grandparent's city in the morning. That evening, he passed away.
Compared to what a lot of other people have been through, it doesn't seem as egregious. In fact, it's probably on the lower part of the spectrum of the worst things one can do to another human being, but it's still the worst thing that's happened to me and completely ruined my mental health for years and probably more years to come.