Page 1

Chapter 1

Shadows of the Past

Evelyn

The moment we step outside, the cool Columbus night air hits me like a splash of ice water, sending a shiver down my spine. I draw in a deep breath, trying to shake off the heaviness from the meeting, but the chill only intensifies the knot in my stomach.

I hate these meetings. Being forced to talk about my feelings and how my marriage—and asshole of an ex-husband—impacts my mental health. But if I want to keep my job, I’ve got no choice but to do this. Captain’s orders.

The streetlights cast a warm, amber glow, painting the sidewalk with patterns of light and shadow, but they do nothing to ease the weight pressing down on my chest. Each step feels like a struggle, as if the very air around me is filled with an unseen pressure, a reminder of the burdens I carry.

“How do you feel?” Lydia asks, her hazel eyes searching mine. We haven’t known each other long—just since I started coming to these meetings last year—but she always knows when I’m about to crack.

“Fantastic,” I mutter, crossing my arms tightly around my torso. I should have worn my scarf. The October evening air istoo cold for my thin jacket. One of these days my stubborn ass will learn what season it is.

She slides her red cat-eye glasses down her nose just enough to give me a pointed stare over the rim, her eyes narrowing with that all-too-familiar scrutiny. I can’t bullshit Lydia. She sees right through me, and the weight of my own facade feels heavier with each step.

“Ugh.” I relent. “Like I just bared my soul to a bunch of strangers. It fucking sucked.”

Olivia laughs, but it’s strained. “Well, at least you didn’t throw a chair this time.”

Olivia’s been coming to these meetings for about six months. She moved to Columbus from New York City to escape her abusive husband. She’s got family here that are providing her with safety and security while she works through her demons. And now she has us. We understand her struggles more than anyone.

“Or storm out,” Lydia adds with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Progress, I suppose.”

The last time it was my turn to share, I lost it. I don’t like talking about my ex. He’s a piece of shit and doesn’t deserve the free rent he currently occupies in my thoughts. It’s bad enough that I can’t get the horrid memories of him and what he did out of my head. Talking about it—putting words to those memories—is torture.

We start walking down the dimly lit sidewalk toward the parking garage. The sound of our shoes against the pavement feels oddly comforting in this moment of vulnerability.

Lydia bumps her shoulder into mine playfully. “You did great tonight, Eve. Seriously. Sharing isn’t easy.”

“Yeah, right.” I kick a pebble on the ground, watching it skitter away into the shadows. “You guys make it look easy.”

“You know it’s not,” Olivia chimes in, her voice laced with sincerity. “But you faced it head-on.” She brushes her long black hair behind her ear and glances at me from the side. “I still can’t put words to what Vinny did to me.”

“You’re dealing with your own stuff,” I reply softly. “It’s not a competition.”

“I think we’re all in this together,” Lydia says with that bright smile of hers that could light up this dark evening.

“Together,” Olivia echoes before pausing, looking at me again. “Do you think sharing those details helps?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” I admit, letting out a breath that feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. “Sometimes it just feels like … more weight.”

Lydia nods as if she understands all too well—because she does.

“Did anything trigger you?” Olivia asks cautiously.

I swallow hard, glancing at the ground again as memories flicker through my mind—harsh words hurled at me like stones—and then there’s silence among us.

“No.” It comes out sharper than intended. Probably because it’s not true. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to talk about what Ryan did to me without having a breakdown. He made me feel weak and small and useless. Not exactly good traits for a detective.

Lydia halts abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she plants her hands firmly on her hips. “I don’t believe you.”

Our eyes lock in a staring contest, neither of us willing to give in. But the longer little miss sunshine holds her ground, the more I feel the weight of her unwavering gaze. The silence stretches thin, and I can almost hear the seconds ticking away. Eventually, I relent, a small sigh escaping my lips as I break the stare.

“Ugh … I’m weak, okay. And it’s tearing me up inside,” I admit, the weight of my truth pressing down on my shoulders.