I wish she knew how much turmoil is in my head right now. It’s taking all of my self-control to stop myself from forcing her out of this fucking house.
“Did he hurt you?”
“You need to leave.”
“No.”
She looks away. Her hands grip the windowsill like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. “Please—”
“Not without you,” I say.
Her eyes snap back to mine. “What? I can’t just leave.”
“You can.”
“Zinnia—”
“Will be fine for one night.”
“He’ll know I’m gone. He’ll—”
“He’ll do this again tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day until you’re so beaten down you forget what it feels like to breathe without permission.”
She flinches.
Good. She needs to hear it.
“Get your shoes,” I say. “And a jacket. Nothing else. Two minutes.”
I step back from the window and give her space to decide.
As much as I want to force her, I’m not dragging her out of there. Not forcing her hand. Not becoming another man who tells her what to do.
She has to choose.
One minute passes.
Two.
The window closes.
My chest tightens. My hands curl into fists again.
She’s not coming.
I start to turn away.
Then the other window opens, and I exhale. I take a couple steps and remove the screen quietly. She crawls through, wearing sneakers and a hoodie. She doesn’t look at me. Just focuses on climbing out without falling.
I move closer, holding my arms out to catch her if she slips.
She drops to the ground, stumbling forward. I steady her by the shoulders. Just long enough for her to find her balance.
She pulls away and looks back at Zinnia’s dark window.
Her whole face crumples.
But she doesn’t hesitate.
