“You are stronger than he made you believe,” she said. “That’s what matters now. Not what he said. Not what he did. What matters is that you made it this far.”
I shook my head, but weakly.
I didn’t feel strong. I felt bruised, breakable, and terrified.
But Ellen’s face did not change.
“You escaped,” she said. “You got out of that house. You made it to the road. You begged for help when your body had nothing left. That is strength, sweetheart.”
The word sweetheart struck me right in the heart. It felt warm and painful at the same time. A term of endearment that I found myself seeking out. Whenever I heard it, I felt seen.
I tried to answer, but my throat closed. Arthur’s pursuit hammered at the edge of my consciousness, refusing to leave space for anything else.
But now, alongside it
