He must get some sort of sick kick out of seeing the marks he makes on me.
In the mirror I see someone unrecognizable—skin stretched tight over silence; hollow eyes haunted by the echo of my own name. A husk. My hair, too long, auburn, Mama used to beam—now hangs limp past my shoulders, heavy with the memory of hands running through it that never belonged.
I close my eyes once, twice, and wonder: how much of me can remain when every choice is a cage?
When I open them, the first thing I see are my green eyes. People always notice them first. Striking, they say. Like moss in sunlight. Like they’re something soft, but there’s nothing soft left. I look and I look— but I don’t see myself. Just a warning. This is what happens when a woman forgets she’s a person. Instead, something built to be owned. To be used.
My eyes sting. I force them dry. I think of Mama. Her trembling hands as she folded this dress into my suitcase. She knew. She saw his actions. She saw me flinch when Jacob touched my shoulder. Shelet me go anyway. They both did.
Once, I thought love meant bedtime stories. Lavender oil. Red ribbons in my hair.
Now I know better. Love looks like silence. Love looks like shame. Love looks likesurvival.
And then… there were my girls.
Constance. Adelaide.
My light when the world started to darken. My anchors in a sea that kept trying to drown me. They were late-night secrets and bruised toes from dancing barefoot on wet pavement. They were warmth when everything else turned to frost.
“Poison,” he called them. “Loud-mouthed little sluts.”
He said they were waiting for my downfall. That he was the only one who’d catch me.
But he didn’t seeme. Not really. He saw what he hadn’t broken yet. He sawthemfor what they were—A threat. Women who would go to the ends of the earth for me. Hell, they’ve tried.
When I first moved with Jacob, they tried to come see me often. But Jacob had warned me. I had to pretend to be happy, I had to pretend that I wanted this life with him. If the girls caused a scene, Moore’s men might target them, too.
I smooth the lilac dress over my knees. The fabric snags on scabbed skin. I sit cross-legged in a patch of fading sunlight—childlike, breakable, like a paper doll left out in the rain. The silence shifts and my imagination springs to life. I close my eyes, and I see them.
Constance—rough-edged, dark-eyed, unapologetic.
Adelaide—all softness and sunflower seeds, wild laughter and secrets under her breath.
Then— Crunch. Gravel. Sudden. Wrong. My body locks. Breath caught. Heartbeat frantic, wild,panicked.
I creep toward the window, one hand trembling as I hook back the curtain.
Not his truck. Not Jacob’s.
This one’s red. Old. Beaten to hell and proud of it. The bumper’s got a dent like it grew there—scarred, unashamed. A truck that’s been through fire and came outlaughing.
The door creaks open. A man climbs out. Tall. Dark-haired.
Benny.
My chest folds in on itself. He takes the porch steps slow. Every creak in the boards sounds like an admonition. Like we’re already in trouble. Before he can knock, I open the door.
He freezes. His eyes lock onto mine—and something in himcracks. I see it. The fracture. Like glass under pressure. Shock. Confusion. Then—concern.
Raw. Bare. Blinding.
His jaw tightens. I watch the muscle jump. He takes me in—allof me. The dress. The finger mark bruises on my arm. The silence. His gaze lands on my wrists—on the fingerprints Jacob branded me with. He stares like he wants to bury him for them. Flaring his nostrils and releasing a sigh of fury. But he swallows it. Keeps it tucked behind clenched teeth.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, suddenly too aware of the puffiness under my eyes, the hollowness in my face, the way this dress clings to skin that doesn’t feel like mine. I look like prey. Ifeellike prey.
"Is he here?" Benny’s voice is quiet, like Jacob might crawl out of the walls if he speaks too loudly.
I shake my head. “No. But he comes back. Random times. To check.”To test. To remind me I’m still his. “How did you know where I live?”
