“After Papa put him away, some guys—Jackson’s guys—started taking photos. Of me. Of Mama and Papa. There was one of me asleep in bed with a note on the back.” My voice drops to a hiss. “They were going to take me.”
Constance’s mouth falls open. Adelaide’s knuckles whiten around her mug.
“The police are hunting them. They’re doing what they can, and Jackson’s still behind bars, so….” My laugh breaks—hollow. “So technically there’s no need to worry.” I drag my hands down my face. “One thing is certain: Jacob won’t let anyone hurt me. Well—” My voice falters. “Anyone other than himself.”
Their eyes lock on me, wide and stricken. And for the first time, I don’t look away.
Adelaide rests her hand on my knee, stroking gently, her smile too soft, too pitying. It makes me want to slap myself. I used to be stronger than this—louder. One of the girls who spoke too much, too often, never afraid to tell a teacher off if I thought they were wrong.
They used to joke I’d follow Papa into the courthouse one day. Now look at me—sitting here like a child asking permission to breathe.
“Do you have any sort of plan?” Constance asks finally, her voice careful, like she’s afraid I don’t.
“I do.” I swallow hard. “Blackwood. You remember when I told you both about the medical school acceptance? They offer housing. As soon as applications open, I’m gone. But I need to use your address for any mail. Jacob can’t know. If he finds out, it’s over before it begins.”
Adelaide nods immediately, glancing at Constance and back to me. “Of course. That’s solid. But—” She hesitates, biting her lip. “Why don’t you let us book you a hotel for now? Out of town. I can cover it. I’ve still got half my inheritance. I don’t need it back.”
The offer slices through me—hope and fear tangled. “Thank you,” I whisper, “but right now… I’m safer with Jacob. As stupid as that sounds.”
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it—hot and humiliating.
Adelaide’s hand finds mine, her voice soft and steady. “Aww, Summer, come on, honey. You’ve been carrying this by yourself for so long, but you’re not alone anymore.”
I shake my head, my throat tight. “That’s not just it, though,” I whisper. “It’s Jacob. He’s in my head—messing with me, twisting everything until I don’t know what’s real anymore. Last night…” My voice falters, shame rising like a tide. “Last night, I wanted to have sex with him. I wanted him. But he’s the one who walked away.”
Both girls exchange a look—wide-eyed—as if my confession has shifted something they thought they understood. I can see it written all over their faces—they’d assumed he was the kind of man who would have already taken what he wanted, the kind who never bothered with lines at all.
Constance tilts her head slightly, her voice quieter now. “Does he… does he know about Tyler?”
The question lands like a stone between us. She means the boy I gave my virginity to, the secret I buried years ago.
I swallow hard and shake my head. “No. I don’t think so. I don’t even know how he’d react if he did.” The words are small, but the truth is enormous.
Adelaide’s expression hardens, her usual softness sharpening with protectiveness. She leans forward, her voice dropping low like a warning.
“Summer, listen to me,” she says firmly. “Don’t let him know. Not about Tyler. Not by any means. If he doesn’t already, you keep it that way.” Her eyes lock on mine, urgency twisting in her expression. “You have no idea what he’d do with that kind of information.”
Constance lets out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, please. You really think he doesn’t already know? That man probably knows how many times you piss in a day.”
She exhales through her nose, fury simmering under her skin. “But seriously, Summer,” she adds, softer. “The offer’s always there—the hotel, a bed here. You know we’ve got you.”
I nod, the weight in my chest loosening just a fraction. For the first time in months, I don’t feel entirely alone.
We sit in silence for a while, letting the air breathe between us.
Constance breaks it first. “I’ve sworn off men again,” she announces, smirking. “Only relationship I need is with my coffee machine and my vibrator. They never argue, never cheat, and always know exactly how I like it.”
I smile—an actual smile.
Adelaide shrugs when I ask about her love life. “Nothing worth writing home about,” she mutters. “I lived with Grandma until the funeral, then moved here. Now this house is our little bachelorette sanctuary.”
And it is. Every wall hums with color—pastels, ember oranges, daring blues that shouldn’t work but somehow do. Fairy lights spill like constellations across the curtain rods. Vintage chairs sag under bright cushions. Handwritten quotes curl across the fridge like protective charms.
This was our dream once: the three of us under one roof, barefoot in the kitchen, music too loud, books scattered everywhere, whispering secrets into pillows as if forever was guaranteed.
“I still dream about that sometimes,” I whisper, the words trembling out before I can stop them. “Us. Living together.”
Neither of them answers right away. The silence is heavy. Aching.
