I laugh. It comes out wrong, too high and breathless, like my body hasn't caught up to the fact that it's over.
Holt stops pacing. Just stops mid-step and kneels in front of me, eye level, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his blue eyes. My breathing slows. The wild spinning in my head quiets.
"You did good."
"I was terrified."
"I know." His voice is quiet, certain.
My throat goes tight. "I don't feel brave. I feel like—like I almost let him pull me back into that fear. When he grabbed me, I almost froze."
"But you didn't," Finn says from where he's leaning against the doorframe.
"No." I flex my hand, feel the soreness in my wrist. "No, I didn't."
Holt's gaze drops to my wrist. The red marks stand out against my skin—finger-shaped evidence that Evan was here, that he touched me. Holt's jaw tightens so hard I hear his teeth click.
"He hurt you."
"Not like he wanted to. Not like he used to be able to." I turn my wrist over, studying the mark. "This is nothing compared to what he did to my head."
Finn moves into the room, sits in the armchair across from us. His eyes are serious for once. "What did he used to do? Like, day to day?"
I take a breath. This matters, saying it out loud. Making it real. "He'd go through my phone. Make me explain every text, every call. If I didn't answer fast enough he would backhand me. He'd just show up wherever I was. My office, the grocery store, coffee with friends. He'd walk in like it was normal."
"That's fucked up," Finn says flatly.
"He'd tell me what to wear. Say my dresses were too short, my shirts too low. Even when they weren't. Especially when they weren't. He'd pick out my clothes in the morning, lay them on the bed like I was a child who couldn't dress herself."
Holt's fists clench. I watch his knuckles go white.
"He made me text him every hour when I was at work. Prove I was where I said I'd be. If I forgot, or if I was in a meeting, he'd call my office line. Over and over until I answered." The words keep coming. "At the time, I thought he cared. Thought he was protecting me from something."
"He was controlling you," Holt says, and there's something dangerous in his voice.
"Yeah." I meet his eyes. "Took me way too long to see it. Took running away in a wedding dress to finally understand what he was."
Finn runs a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Scout."
"I know." I do know. Now. "But I'm out. I'm here. And he can't touch me anymore."
The room goes quiet except for the ceiling fan clicking overhead. Finn stretches, stands up, and I know what's coming before he says it.
"I'm gonna head out. Give you two some space."
"You don't have to—"
"I know." He grins, but it's softer than usual. "But I'm going to anyway. Besides, I need to call Maeve. Tell her you're okay."
"Tell her thank you. For showing up."
"Will do, Gremlin." He claps Holt on the shoulder as he passes. "Take care of her."
"Always."
The door closes behind Finn and suddenly it's just us. The quiet settles in—not uncomfortable, just full. Holt's still kneeling in front of me, close enough that I can smell motor oil.
"Thank you." My voice cracks. "For stepping in. For not letting him—"
