Her voice broke.
“But it wasn’t. When I refused, he had me chained in a room. His men took turns. Over and over. I stopped counting.”
The room was deathly silent.
Then Lacy whispered: “He said it was…”
“Training,” Martha interrupted, her voice ragged.
Lacy nodded immediately, tears falling freely now.
And just like that, the final pieces clicked into place.
Martha knew. She knew. Because she’d lived it too.
This wasn’t just betrayal or manipulation.
It was systemic. Generational. Weaponized.
Two women—mother and daughter—broken by the same man, used and discarded by the same monster.
And still, somewhere in Lacy’s heart, she thought she could rebuild something with him.
It was more than sad. It was a tragedy.
“They did all sorts of things to me, Mommy,” Lacy sobbed, her voice
