“No one can find you here,” Hollis promised. “The address is confidential. We have security protocols.”
“Here,” Claire said softly and held out a glass of water. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”
Sarah took the water. Her hand was bruised, her nails ragged. She drank like she hadn’t seen water in days. When she finally lowered the glass, her gaze returned to Maggie, sharper now.
“I know you.” Her voice came out reedy, thin. “You’re on TV. You… build things.”
Even beaten and terrified, this woman recognized her. How many others had watched her on screen while living in private hells? How many had dreamed of escape while their abusers sat beside them on the couch?
“That’s right. I’m Magnolia. Maggie.”
“I watched your show.” Sarah’s breathing slowed a fraction. “When he was at work. Your Christmas special last year, where you made that table from reclaimed barn wood.”
“Ah, the herringbone pattern. That was one of my favorites.”
“Ryan hated when I watched DIY shows.” Sarah’s fingers twisted into the hem of her oversized sweater. “Said I’d get ideas about changing the house. Said I didn’t need to know how to use tools.”
Ryan. The husband.
Hollis caught Maggie’s eye and gave a small nod of encouragement.
“That’s exactly why you should know how to use tools,” Maggie said softly, settling onto the edge of the bed. “So you can build whatever you need.”
“He broke my fingers once when I tried to hang a picture.” She held up her right hand. The pinky was slightly crooked. “Said I’d put holes in his walls.”
“His walls,” Claire muttered, the words full of disgust.
Maggie kept her expression neutral despite the fury building in her chest. “Sarah, you’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you again.”
“But he’s a federal agent.” Her gaze darted to the window, though the curtains were drawn tight. “He has high-up friends. Unlimited resources. He’ll send the FBI or the Marshals after me. He won’t let me go.”
“We’ve dealt with this before,” Hollis assured. “You’re not the first woman to come through here with a husband in law enforcement.”
Sarah’s shoulders hunched inward. “He said if I ever left, he’d hunt me down. Said he’d rather see me dead than with someone else. Said nobody would believe me if I told them the truth about him.”
The words sent a chill through Maggie. How many times had Landry implied the same thing? Never directly threatening—he was too smart for that—but the message was clear.
You’re mine. Forever.
“I believe you,” Maggie said, the words coming from someplace deep and raw inside her. “Every word.”
Sarah sniffled. “You do?”
“Yes. I know exactly what it’s like to have someone decide they own you. To have them use your career, your dreams, your success against you.”
Hollis and Claire exchanged a glance but remained silent, letting Maggie continue.
“My former co-host.” She swallowed hard. “We dated for a short time, and he started with small digs at first. Comments about my clothes, my hair, suggestions about who I should and shouldn’t spend time with. Then it was checking my phone. Making ‘jokes’ about what would happen if I left the show. Our show.” Every time she told the story, the words came more easily. She hoped, in time, the same would hold true for Sarah.“When I finally ended things, he didn’t accept it. He started following me. Showing up at events, at my house. Sending messages through mutual friends. The police said they couldn’t do anything until he hurt me, but I refused to wait around for that to happen.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Sarah whispered. Her breathing had steadied, but her eyes were impossibly wide. “Hiding?”
“I was. But not anymore.” Maggie reached out slowly and placed her hand palm-up on the bed between them. An offering, not a demand. “Now I’m building something new. And you can too.”
Sarah stared at the outstretched hand like she couldn’t quite believe the offer of friendship. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, stopping just short of contact. “He’ll never stop looking.”
“Maybe not,” Maggie acknowledged. “But you no longer have to face him alone. I have your back, and so does Hollis and every other woman here.”
After a long moment, she lowered her hand to Maggie’s. Her skin was cold, her grip weak. “I’m so tired of being afraid.”
