19
The words punched the air from his lungs. He closed his eyes, a broken sound caught deep in his chest. The image of Suzette — proud, stubborn, luminous Suzette — reduced to begging on a street corner made something inside him fracture. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, not hiding his emotion this time, letting her feel the tremor that ran through him.
“God, Suzette,” he whispered, voice raw. “You shouldn’t have had to endure that. Not ever.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
He jerked back just enough to look at her, disbelief flaring hot.Wasn’t that bad?He wanted to punch someone — starting with that sanctimonious woman who’d dared to smear her name.
“How long?” he ground out. His throat was tight, his jaw locked. It didn’t matter what number she said. Even one second was one too many.
“Just a few days,” she said quietly. “Until Miem pulled up beside me, causing a traffic jam while she wrestled me into herbakkie, and drove me back to the flat. She helped me pack our stuff, and when Esther arrived home from school, we left.”
Her voice softened on the last word, and Justin felt something inside him shift. Rage gave way to a fierce, aching tenderness. He gathered her closer, his hand sliding up her spine as if trying to erase every moment she’d ever felt abandoned.
A few days.
A few days of her standing on a street corner with a placard — desperate, judged, alone.
Until Miem arrived.
“Miem has my eternal gratitude,” he said, voice thick. “It’s no wonder she’s so protective of you.”
A small smile ghosted across Suzette’s lips. “Miem’s an angel.” Then the smile vanished. “There’s more.”
His stomach dropped. “More?” How much more could there be?
She nodded. “That woman … the one from the church who accused me … she also stopped at that intersection. Saw me. Ignored me.”
Justin swore — a vicious, blistering string of words that felt nowhere near satisfying enough.
Suzette’s voice stayed steady, though he could see the memory tightening her throat. “She’s the type who would sell the story to the media. And make up lies to go with it.”
“Let her try,” he shot back, heat flaring under his skin. “I will bury her in a lawsuit.”
“It would kill me if it came out,” she whispered.
He blinked. “Why?”
“Why?” The word tore from her, raw and incredulous. “Come on, Justin. Be serious. I’d be crucified in the media.”
He opened his mouth — ready to argue, ready to tell her she was wrong, that he’d stand between her and the world — but the truth crashed into him.
She was right.
It was exactly the kind of juicy, cruel gossip people devoured.
Exactly the kind of twisted narrative tabloids would spin until she was nothing but headlines and misquotes and public judgment.
Dammit.
The fury rose hot and helpless beneath his ribs — not at her, never at her — but at the world that had already hurt her once and might try again.
He cupped her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. He hated seeing that vulnerable look in her eyes. Hated it. “Suzette … none of it touches who you are. Not to me.” His voice dropped, fierce and low. “You hear me? Not to me.”
Her eyes slipped away from his. “I don’t want you to be ashamed of me.”
The words were so soft he barely heard them — a whisper cracked open with fear.
