Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Jillian wasn’t apologetic about running the story nor did I expect her to be. She did exactly what I asked her to do… and that was rush it to press. She was sympathetic even though she didn’t understand that I was now trying to protect Penn from the harsh spotlight. I never gave her my co-witness’s name and she never pressed. The conversation ended and left me feeling more miserable than I already did.
Some messages are kind, but they are few and far between. One is from Aunt Dorene, short but heartfelt. Proud of you, Mila-bug. That couldn’t have been easy to do. Call me when you can. Love you.
The warmth of her words hits me harder than I expect, and I have to press my lips together to keep from crying. I clutch the phone to my chest for a second, relishing the only piece of comfort I’ve felt all morning.
But the kindness is drowned out by the rest.
A message from an unknown number rolled in seconds after Dorene’s. You think this makes you safe? It won’t stop what’s coming. We haven’t forgotten what you did. You’ll pay for it.
My fingers tremble as I reread the threat, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. I’m scared witless and can’t help but read the second one that came in, from the same number. Slut. Liar. Bitch. Hope it was worth ruining your brother’s life.
The news article was supposed to make me safe. With this all out in the open, no one would dare come after me. These text messages from my tormentor are nothing more than words. There’s no way he can act upon them, not without getting labeled as a prime suspect. They have to know that, right?
My phone dings and it startles me so badly, I almost drop it. I bobble, turn it over and my heart leaps with joy when I see the word Mom. After all these years, I still have her programmed in my contacts and if there’s ever someone who needs their mom on their side in this moment, it’s me.
But then my eyes really focus on the message and a feeling of dark emptiness courses through me. Her message is short and damning. Just a single sentence in a gray bubble, and somehow, it lands the hardest. You’re a disgrace to this family.
I stare at it, the words blurring before my eyes. There’s no “How are you.” No concern. No attempt to understand. Just condemnation. Rejection.
Like always.
My thumb hovers over the screen, tempted to delete it, but I don’t. Not because I want to see it again—but because I need the reminder. I have no one to count on other than Penn and Dorene, and I’m sure that will only be Dorene once Penn finds out about the article.
I remind myself I did the right thing all those years ago. And I’ve done what’s best for me now. My choices have been solid, both before and today. But even as I try to convince myself of that, I have to acknowledge that I’m standing here alone because of those choices.
My phone dings again, but I’m numb at this point. I dispassionately read the next text. You won’t see it coming. You’ll suffer before you die.
The numbness dissipates, replaced by full-blown terror because throughout all the threats I’ve received, whoever this is has never come right out and said they’ll kill me. The implication has certainly been there, but I think without the actual words, it’s been easier to believe that it’s only ever been digital harassment.
By promising to kill me, it’s clear that I have to watch my back at all times now. I press my hand to my mouth and close my eyes, willing the nausea down. A cold sweat breaks out along my spine and I have the sudden urge to bolt.
Cash in my savings, sell my little house in Boca Raton and flee to another country where I’ll get plastic surgery to change my appearance and assume a new identity. Then I’ll be safe.
For a moment, things are crystal clear. I need to go and I need to do it fast. I turn for the stairs, mentally calculating how quickly I can pack and get on the road, but I don’t even make it a step when I hear the mudroom door opening from the garage and I know Penn is home.
I didn’t expect him for a while as I knew he had a team meeting and then practice. There’s no way they’re finished already.
There’s only one reason he’d be here right now. He’s seen the article.
It’s with so much fear that I turn around to face him. Please, Penn. Please don’t be angry.
But I know better. I know exactly what’s coming through that door. My hands won’t stop shaking and I hate myself for the weakness because I’d convinced myself I was ready for this. That exposing the truth was the only way to protect myself. To protect us, even if Penn never asked me to. Even if he would never admit it.