"I can't." Tears burn my eyes. "I'm not strong enough. I'll fall apart."
"You won't be alone." Sergio's hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. "We'll be there. All of us."
"And I'll handle the press," Rosa adds. "I'll field the questions. All you have to do is stand there and exist. Let people see you're not the person the Morrisons are describing. Let them see you're human."
I look around the room. At Sergio beside me, solid and certain. At Pedro leaning against the fireplace, arms crossed but expression concerned. At Carlos perched on the arm of the couch, ready to fight. At Nacho by the window, already thinking through logistics.
My pack.
"What if it doesn't work?" My voice comes out small. "What if people still believe them?"
"Then we try something else." Rosa starts gathering the papers back into the folder. "But Jessica, I've been doing this for twenty years. I know how these stories play out. Right now,the Morrison family is counting on you staying silent. They're counting on you being too scared, too ashamed, too broken to fight back."
She meets my eyes.
"Prove them wrong."
The words settle into the silence.
Sergio squeezes my hand. "Your choice. Whatever you decide, we support it."
I think about the article. The comments calling me trash, desperate, mentally unstable. The way Callum's mother called my mom offering to pay for treatment. The years I spent trying to be small enough, quiet enough, perfect enough to deserve his love.
I think about three other women who tried to speak up and got silenced.
"Okay." The word comes out stronger than I feel. "Okay. I'll do it."
Rosa nods once, sharp and satisfied. "Good. We'll do it at the town square. Nine AM tomorrow morning. I'll handle the media coordination. You just need to show up and stand with your pack."
"That's it?"
"That's it." She zips her bag closed and stands. "The rest is just noise. And I'm very good at managing noise."
Sergio walks her to the door. I hear them talking in low voices, discussing logistics, times, locations. When he comes back, his expression is carefully neutral.
"You don't have to do this," he says quietly. "If you changed your mind right now, we'd support that too."
"I know." I lean into his shoulder, breathing him in. Cedar and smoke and safety. "But she's right. They're counting on me staying quiet. I'm done being quiet."
His arm wraps around me, pulling me close.
"Then tomorrow we make noise."
The others drift closer, forming a circle around me. My pack. My family. My choice.
"Jess." Stacey's voice cuts through the moment. She's standing in the doorway, looking guilty. "I need to tell you something."
My stomach drops. "What?"
"I wasn't planning to leave tomorrow morning." She twists her hands together. "I was going to leave tonight. After dinner. I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd feel bad, but I have an early meeting and the drive is long and..."
"You have to go." I finish for her. Understanding floods through me. "Right now."
"I wanted to stay," she says softly. "I wanted to be here for you tomorrow. But this client booked me six months ago and if I miss the morning meeting, I lose a twenty-thousand-dollar contract, and..."
"It's okay." I stand up and cross to her. "It's okay. You came. You were here when I needed you. That's what matters."
"But the press conference," she protests. "You shouldn't have to face that alone."
