Knowing she will continue to refuse, I turn and shout over my shoulder at Dani’s manager, “Elaine, can you give Dani here a few minutes to chat?”
“Absolutely, hon, you got it.” Elaine doesn’t even glance in my direction—she knows who I’m related to.
“Take a seat, Dani.”
“OK, sure,” she replies, taking a seat, a slight tremble in her movements. A normal person may not have caught it, but with my years of training it’s easy to spot.
“I just want to talk to you, that’s all.”
“What about? I don’t even know you, let alone your name.”
“Well… I think you and I know that’s a lie. The name is Kayden.”
Her eyes widen a fraction. “Kayden. I never thought I’d see you again. At least now I know your name.”
“Ah, so you do remember my face. Good.”
She holds my stare, showing a small amount of defiance that I almost find admirable.
“I came here to discuss the state of your current affairs. I follow up on all the women we save, ensuring they are not only surviving but thriving.”
I pause, letting her absorb my words. “But you, Dani, don’t seem to be thriving at all. You barely use the money given to you, and you don’t go to therapy anymore.Why is that?”
“You’ve been following me?”
“Like I said, I keep tabs on all the women we rescue.”
She looks down at her hands sheepishly, clearly struggling to find the right words.
Every six months, Franklin follows up with the women and children who have been rescued, making sure everyone is thriving. A week ago he notified me that one woman in particular was no longer going to therapy and barely making ends meet. It worried me. We do all we can to ensure each survivor has a good, stable life, and for one not to be doing well feels like a failure on my end. I was surprised to find out it was my spitfire. I have purposely stayed away from her, but now there is no holding it off. I can no longer stay away from her, only checking in on her twice a year. It won’t be enough anymore. The only reason I stayed away was to avoid diminishing her light by dragging her into my dark depths. But once I heard she wasn’t doing good, I saidfuck it. Obviously staying away didn’t do her any good, so now we do it my way.
I’ve been following her, learning her routine every day, ever since.
“Look, I just want to find out if I can convince you to return to therapy. Maybe rely on the money we gave you a little more, get a better paying job.”
“I like my job, though. It’s close to home and…”
“And what? This job was meant to be a stepping stone, not a permanent position. I hear the hours suck and you’re limping.”
A blush creeps along her cheeks and I can tell she’s flustered. In the days I’ve been following her, I’ve caught her limping.
“How…? Never mind, that’s beside the point. I’m happy where I am.”
“You’re not happy. You’re medicated.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not happy. This day and age, we don’t shame people for their mental illnesses.”
“I’m not shaming you, just making you aware of the obvious. You go through life on autopilot, barely ever straying from your strict routine. That’s not happiness.”
“It’s called living. I’m living with what I have.”
“Living and existing are two very different things, Dani. Living is choosing happiness. Existing is just whatever it is you’re doing now.”
She lets out a huff, crossing her arms as though to protect herself from my words. She can deny me all she wants, but we both know that the life she’s living is just existing—she isn’t happy.
“At least think about it. Therapy has done a lot of these women some good in their lives. You shouldn’t have to just exist, Dani. You should be living life and experiencing all it has to offer.”
I lay my business card on the table when she stays silent, pondering my words.
