Page 92

“I’m not,” she says quickly—too quickly. “We’re just having fun. That’s all it is. That’s all it can be.”

But I see the fear in her eyes, the way her other hand keeps touching that silk scarf like it’s a lifeline. I recognize that look—it’s the same one I saw in my mirror this morning. The look of someone trying desperately not to admit they’re in too deep.

“Come on.” I grab my purse and slide out of the booth. “Lydia’s probably waiting for us and Naomi’s coming. She needs our support.”

Olivia slides out of the booth, and we make the short walk to the community center.

The small meeting room feels too warm tonight, despite the chill autumn air outside. Lydia waves us over and we take our seats. Naomi gives us a nervous smile as she makes her way to us. Sharing isn’t easy. Not at any stage of recovery. She’s brave for coming tonight and agreeing to take this step toward recovery.

I shift in my metal folding chair as Naomi nervously takes her seat in our circle. Her long red curls partially obscure her face as she looks down at her hands.

The facilitator does a quick introduction and then gives Naomi the floor. She slowly pushes to her feet.

“I’m Naomi,” she says softly, her voice barely carrying across our small circle of chairs. “I … I left my husband three weeks ago.” Her fingers twist in front of her. “Micah—my father-in-law—he’s been helping me stay hidden, protecting me from his son.”

Beside me, Olivia keeps checking her phone, her usual animated energy subdued. I know she’s thinking about Seb, lying in that bed with bandages wrapped around his shoulder. I want to reach out, to tell her it’s okay to be scared, but I know she’ll just deflect.

“You’re safe here,” Lydia says to Naomi in that gentle way she has. She leans forward. “We all understand what it’s like, havingto leave, having to hide.” She gestures to the three of us. “That’s actually how we all met—right here in this room.”

“Lucas, my husband, he—” Naomi’s voice cracks. “He said no one would believe me. That his family’s money would protect him.” She looks up, meeting our eyes one by one. “But Micah … he believed me. When he saw the bruises.”

“Men like that count on our silence,” I say, my voice harder than I intended. “They use shame to keep us quiet.”

Olivia’s phone buzzes. She jumps, then quickly silences it, but I catch the flash of Seb’s name on the screen. Her face goes pale, and she shoves the phone deep into her purse.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “Go on, Naomi.”

But Olivia’s hands shake. The fear in her eyes that has nothing to do with past trauma and everything to do with the present: the man lying wounded in my guest room, and the danger that comes with loving someone who lives in shadows.

Naomi takes a shaky breath. “The first time he hit me, it was over dinner. I’d made chicken parmesan—his favorite. But I’d forgotten to buy fresh basil.” Her voice trembles. “He threw the plate against the wall, then backhanded me so hard I fell. My head hit the floor so hard I had a concussion.”

My stomach clenches. Next to me, Olivia reaches for her hand.

“After that, it was like living with a bomb that could go off any second.” Naomi’s green eyes fill with tears. “The worst part wasn’t even the hitting. It was never knowing what would set him off. Walking on eggshells, trying to be perfect, knowing it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“How did you finally leave?” Lydia asks softly.

“Micah showed up unexpectedly one afternoon. Lucas was—” She swallows hard. “He had me pinned against the wall, choking me. Micah pulled him off, got me out of there. I’ve been staying with him ever since.”

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as we all absorb her words. I recognize that haunted look in her eyes. It’s the same one I used to see in my mirror, back when Ryan verbally attacked me every waking minute.

“Lucas keeps trying to find me,” Naomi continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “He comes by Micah’s house everyday asking where I am. So far he believes his dad when he tells him I’m not there. He’s called my parents, my friends. Told them I’m mentally unstable, that I need help. Some of them believed him.”

“Of course they did,” Olivia says bitterly. “Men like that are so good at playing the victim. At making us look crazy.”

“You’re safe now,” I tell her, meaning it. “We’ve all been where you are. And we’ll help you stay strong.”

Naomi wipes her eyes. “I just … I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to find me.”

“That’s normal,” Lydia says. “The fear doesn’t go away overnight. But it does get better. And you don’t have to face it alone anymore. Besides, Micah is a good man. He’ll keep you safe.”

“You know what the hardest part was for me?” I lean forward, meeting Naomi’s tear-filled gaze. “Learning to trust my own judgment again. They mess with our heads so much that we start doubting everything—even the simplest decisions.”

“God, yes.” Naomi wipes her eyes with the tissue Lydia hands her. “Sometimes I still catch myself thinking ‘Lucas wouldn’t like this’ or ‘Lucas would say I’m being stupid.’”

“But you’re not stupid,” Olivia says fiercely. “You’re brave as hell. Do you know how many women never find the strength to leave?”

“Exactly,” Lydia adds. “Every day you stay away is a victory. Every time you choose yourself over his lies, you’re winning.”