Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“This was last month,” Mia said, passing me the most recent shot. I stood outside Haven in the courtyard, face tilted toward the sun, shoulders back. The woman in that photo looked entirely different from the first. She looked strong. She looked like me. I noticed in the background Rip leaning against a nearby tree watching me with a small, satisfied smile on his face. Like he was the happiest man in the world.
“When did you take this?” I asked.
“The day after the coffee shop. When you stood up to Eric.” Mia arranged several photos of me and some of the other women at Haven in chronological order from my arrival. “These aren’t just pictures, you know. They’re your middle finger to Eric’s control.”
I looked at the progression laid out before me. From broken to healing to standing tall. Not completely whole yet but getting there. “What do we do with them?”
“We post them,” Mia said firmly. “With your words. Your truth.” She gestured to her laptop open on a stool nearby. “Reclaim your narrative. Tell your story in a raw, unfiltered way and make no apologies for it.”
My throat tightened. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Say whatever you need to say. There isn’t a wrong way to do this as long as it comes from the heart.” Mia squeezed my arm gently. “You survived him, Jade. Other women need to hear that. And Eric needs to see he can’t silence you.”
I sat down at the laptop, fingers hovering over the keys. The blinking cursor waited for words I wasn’t sure I had. What could I possibly say that would matter? That would make a difference?
I began typing slowly, then faster as the words found their own rhythm. My fingers trembled as words tumbled out. I wrote about the isolation. The shame. The way I believed I deserved everything Eric dished out. I wrote about the night I finally ran and the women who took me in at Haven. I wrote about facing Eric at the courthouse and again at the coffee shop. He could threaten me all he wanted, but Eric couldn’t silence me. Not anymore.
I spent two hours reading and rereading what I’d written, making small adjustments until tears streamed down my face as I finished. I had no idea if my story would actually make a difference, but the weight I’d been carrying for so long finally slid from my shoulders. I felt like I could breathe again.
“Ready?” Mia asked when I finished.
I took a deep breath and clicked Post. The second I did, relief and a rush of happiness filled me. The smile I knew spread across my face was genuine.
We didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes, my phone began vibrating against the table with notifications. Comments appeared under the post faster than I could read them.
“You are so brave.”
“Thank you for sharing your story.”
“I believe you.”
I scrolled through them, my vision blurring with tears. Then private messages started arriving. The first one made me gasp.
“I dated Eric three years ago. He did the same things to me. I thought I was the only one.”
Another message popped up.
“He threatened to ruin my career when I tried to leave him. I still have the texts.”
Messages. Replies. Over the next hour, there were so many I had trouble keeping up with them.
I looked up at Mia. “How many women did he hurt?”
“Too many,” Mia said grimly. “But they’re finding their voices now too. Because of you.”
“I never thought anyone would listen,” I whispered. “Or care.”
“That’s what abusers count on,” Mia said. “Isolation makes you believe you’re alone.”
“I’m not his victim anymore,” I said, my voice steady and clear.
Mia smiled. “No. You’re not. Maybe we can both heal together?”
I pulled Mia to me and hugged her. “I’d love that.”
* * *
Rip
I watched Knight’s face harden as he pulled up the security footage on the main monitor. The blue light from the screen cast shadows across his tattooed features, making him look even more menacing than usual. Knight rarely showed emotion beyond mild amusement or casual indifference. Seeing raw anger crack his usual composure told me whatever he’d found was serious. He clicked through several files before enlarging one timestamp from three days ago. The grainy night vision footage showed a figure moving along the outer fence line of Haven. There was no way to tell exactly who walked our fence, but I’d bet my left nut it had something to do with Eric.
Knight tapped keys on his keyboard and another video appeared. “This one was the night before last. Different time. Different section of fence.” The timestamp showed 3:47 a.m. “Hard to tell, obviously, but it’s not a stretch to think it’s the same person. Might be Eric. Might be someone trying to get to one of the other women in Haven. And this morning at 4:30.” He pulled up a third clip.