“Thank you for understanding. And for not judging me.”
She smirks. “Oh, don’t get too comfortable. I’m still judging your taste in men.”
That earns her a weak laugh from me; my first real one in days.
We pull into the police station parking lot, and my stomach tightens. I’ve never done anything like this before. I have no idea what to expect, but at least Heather’s with me. She’s been through this before, walking survivors through the process, and the calm way she handles herself makes me feel a little less exposed.
Inside, the fluorescent lights hum overhead, and the smell of stale coffee hangs in the air. We wait for about twenty minutes before an officer calls my name. When we sit down, Heather slides effortlessly into professional mode, answering the procedural questions while I focus on breathing and trying not to shake.
The officer who interviews me is kind, listens carefully, and doesn’t rush me. When she asks for more details, her tone is patient rather than probing. It makes it easier to get the words out. When I finish giving my statement, she asks a few follow-up questions to make sure she understands everything.
The photos Aiden took are clear and detailed, so they don’t need to take new ones. Heather forwards them directly from her phone, then hands over the medical report she’d insisted I bring along. Watching her manage the details lets me breathe a little easier.
When the officer finishes, they explain the next steps: they’ll investigate, review the evidence, and then pass their findings to the district attorney. He will decide whether to file formal charges. It’s essentially my word against Ray’s, but the bruises, cracked ribs, and the pattern of control I described should be enough.
By the time we step outside, I’m completely drained but relieved. I’m finally realizing I’m stronger than I’ve allowed myself to be.
During the drive home, I call my boss to arrange for temporary leave from work. He’s incredibly supportive and tells me I qualify for a state program offering three months of paid leave, so I can focus on healing from my injuries and my mental health. That breathing room means everything.
Now, as we pull into the driveway, I feel a strange mix of guilt and gratitude. I hate relying so much on others, like Heather’s competence, my mom’s kind heart, and Aiden’s quiet steadiness, but I know I wouldn’t have made it through this without them.
Chapter 12
Aiden
Iarrive early because Ronda wants to see me. She asked for some time alone with me while Jay and Heather were at the police station, and I didn’t argue. It feels odd having an adult conversation with someone who’s been more like a second mom to me, but her familiarity and the smell of lavender candles and freshly baked bread drifting through her house make me feel like I’m walking back in time.
“Aiden, it’s good to see you again,” Ronda says at the door, holding it open with a grin. “Come in. I made iced tea and a light lunch. After that cruise food, I need something that isn’t fried.”
“I’ve never been on a cruise,” I say, following her into the kitchen, “but I hear they feed you nonstop.”
She laughs. “That’s an understatement.”
A tray of fruit and vegetables, cheese and crackers, and hummus is on the kitchen island. It’s the same little spread she used to make for us after school. We both fix our plates and sit at the small table.
I wait a moment, then ask, “So… what did you want to talk about?”
She sighs and reaches for my hand, as she did when I was a kid. “First, thank you for being here for Jayson,” she says, tears wellingup in her eyes. “My son didn’t deserve that. It breaks my heart to see him like this.”
“No, he didn’t,” I reply. “But I’m grateful I could be here for him. He means a lot to me.”
“I’m curious, and maybe I should ask Jayson this instead of you, but how did you reconnect?” she asks.
I don’t want to reveal too much, with protecting Jay being my top priority. Ronda heard Jay mention Florida last night, so I don’t feel like I’m overstepping by bringing it up.
“We were both at an event in Fort Lauderdale a couple of weeks ago. It was a chance meeting that took us both by surprise. It had been a long time.”
Ronda looks down sheepishly. “I’m so sorry about what happened when we left Rochester. It was wrong of me to go along with your father and my ex-husband and cut off contact between you and Jay like that. I’ve always regretted the part I played.”
I swallow hard. Hearing it out loud matters more than she’ll ever know. “Thank you. That means a lot. It wasn’t easy, but I’ve worked to move past it.”
She nods. “Can I ask what happened after we left?”
“Of course.”
I launch into the long, well-told story I’ve shared a hundred times before; the passage of time and distance making it feel as if someone else had walked in those shoes, not the younger version of myself.
It’s easier to detach from the pain of those moments, the rejection I felt, losing relationships with my mom and brothers, and being left alone, without a family to call my own.
