“I had just turned thirteen,” she continued, voice flat but trembling at the edges, “and for a second, I thought maybe I did get my period. That maybe it was a bad dream. A nightmare.”
The weight of her words was a fist to the chest. My fists clenched in my lap, useless. My tongue felt thick. What the hell do you say to something like that?
“But when I went to the restroom, there was still a little blood,” she whispered, “so my hope that I was just imagining it all rose. But then, after a few hours, the bleeding stopped. And I knew. I knew it wasn’t my period.”
A shaky breath escaped her. It rattled through her like it hurt to exhale.
“Then, when I was fourteen, I woke up in pain so sharp it felt like my insides were tearing apart. Sheets soaked in blood. Olga—my nanny—rushed me to the hospital. And the doctor told me I had miscarried.”
The last word barely made it out. So faint I had to lean in to catch it. And when I did, something in me broke.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t sit still. Every instinct screamed at me to wrap her in my arms and hold her together, but I didn’t move. I didn’t dare. All I could do was sit there and drown in the helplessness.
“Shortly after that, I got on birth control,” she said, voice thin and brittle. “And I just remember thinking, Will this ever go away?”She turned to me, resting her cheek against her knees, her skin pale and raw from the cold. Her eyes were empty, but also… pleading, like she needed someone to see the girl still trapped inside.
“Since I was underage,” she went on, “they needed a parent’s permission for the prescription. Olga begged me to tell my mom. To tell her what happened. What was still happening.”
She paused, voice quivering.
“I was so fucking scared. I didn’t know if she’d believe me. But I thought, why wouldn’t my mom if Olga did?”
A tear slipped down her cheek. It glistened in the dim porch light, and I had to physically restrain myself from wiping it away. Not to crumble with her.
“So, I told her,” she whispered. “At first, my mom thought I was acting. Like I was playing a part. Pretending to be some fucked up character from a movie. But when I told her I wasn’t lying…” Her voice cracked and rose, words laced with betrayal. “She got mad. Really mad. I think she even called me a slut. A liar. Accused me of blaming my ‘promiscuity’ on the man who ‘made our lives better.’”
She choked on a sob, swallowing it down like poison.
“That night, Olga held me in her arms while we cried. Because she knew if she said anything, she’d lose her job. She had no money, no place to go. And it wasn’t her job, anyway. It was my mom’s.”
My voice came out low, tight with dread. “Did your mom ever suspect anything?”
She shrugged, slow and numb. “Maybe. Doubtful. My stepdad was brilliant at hiding it. He never touched me when she was around. He knew how to play her. After that day, I juststopped trying. I figured if I ever told her again… she’d just blame me.”
My throat burned. I didn’t want to ask the next question, but it slipped out anyway.
“Can’t you go to the cops?”
A dry, hollow laugh shuddered from her chest as she wiped her tears away. “How can I prove any of it? Sexual assault is one of the hardest things to prove. For them to even take the case seriously, there’d have to be a line of women coming forward, not just one. And men like him? With power, money? They get away with everything.”
She was steel wrapped in scars.
And I just sat there. Drenched in helpless fury. Grieving for the girl she used to be and hating a world that let her suffer in silence for so long.
A cold wind brushes over us, so I ask.
“Do you want to go inside? You have to be freezing.”
Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Sorry, I don’t mean to unload this. I’m sure it’s not a sexy thing.”
“No, I want you to open up. I think you need to. As a survivor myself, that’s one thing I wish I did more of, but it’s cold out here, and I figured we could talk inside.”
That’s when she moved—slow, shaky—reaching down for a cup. The faint clink of ceramic scraped my nerves raw. She raised it to her lips and took a sip like it was oxygen.
Fuck.
“This is keeping me pretty warm.”
My stomach flipped. A sour wave of dread rolled through me, burning. Drinking? Now? How long had she been out here, drowning herself?
