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“My mom was a little upset at first, especially since I got into a great school with a decent financial aid package. She was worried that my terms would change and it might be harder to go back if I waited. My mom was patient though; she thought it was a phase. I wasn’t as sure. I took a year off, and then another.

“I was one-hundred percent sure I was on the right path, doing the right thing, especially since I started dating my hot boss. We ended up eloping in Vegas on a random Monday, a few days after my twentieth birthday.”

“How old was he?”

“Twenty-six,” so not that much older, but also old enough that I thought he was so mysterious and cool.”

“I bet.”

“At first, everything was good. I was so happy. But then my husband, Joel, got offered a promotion to regional store manager, and we moved over an hour away to a tiny one-bedroom apartment in San Francisco. I was away from my family and friends for the first time. I wasn’t too far from them, but I also didn’t have a car or any transportation options. I, uh, also had some restrictions, and my life just got worse and worse.

“I started distancing myself from my friends and family because I didn’t want them to know how stupid I was. How bad I was. I got married and moved away; it was supposed to be an adventure, not a nightmare.”

I take another deep breath. I hate talking about this stuff.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding sincere.

We’re quiet for a moment. I’m unsure what else to say.

“May I ask a question?”

He trails his finger gently along the scar on my inner thigh, sending weird goose bumps through me.

My throat tightens, and I nod, already knowing the question.

“Is this scar from him?”

“Yeah.” I bob my head slightly.

The scar I can easily hide with clothing. The one no one knows exists.

Except Cal.

The scar is only an inch wide on my inner thigh and a lot lighter than it was. You’d have to look closely to know it was there.

And I had a feeling he knew about it, especially since I thought I felt his lips graze it before.

This scar for so long was a reminder not to let anyone in. Not to show them your scars. The first half of my name is a reminder enough of my damage and that I’ll never fully heal.

“Yeah,” I repeat, then pause, debating whether I am strong enough to continue.

You are my brave girl.

Cal’s words whisper in my ears as I swallow, pushing down the lump that formed in my throat.

“It wasn’t the first time he hurt me, but it was probably the worst incident. It happened three years into our marriage, and it was intense. We had just relocated to downtown San Francisco.” I close my eyes as I picture the horror playing through my mind.

Cal links his large fingers through mine and squeezes.

“I was so exhausted. I spent the entire day unpacking and getting our new apartment ready. He came home late with the scent of alcohol on him, nothing unusual for him, even early in our relationship. I was practically asleep when he stumbled into bed begging for sex. When I declined, well, he didn’t take it so well.”

My heart is beating fast, and my throat is dry. “He grabbed a knife, scarring me until I gave in.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Hey, Lettie baby. You don’t have to tell me.” His voice is soft and gentle as he draws circles around my wrist with his fingers.

I swallow down the pain. “I know, but for some reason, I want you to know every side of me. The good and the bad.” I shake my head. “He swore it would get better. He would be better. It was the alcohol. It wasn’t him. He had every excuse. And sometimes, it did get better. He only physically hurt me a handful of times.”

“One time is too many,” Cal slips in, his voice rough.