She opens her eyes, and she shakes her head as she looks at her hands in her lap. “He reached for me, and for a second, I thought I saw his eyes soften.” Her voice lowers, cracking, making my anger melt away for a moment—my sole purpose no longer making this son of a bitch pay for what he did to Rumi.
I watch a tear fall down her cheek, and my own heart unravels—helpless and aching, wishing I could take her pain away, pile it on top of mine, and carry it for her.
“His face looked like it did when he would wake me up in the morning and run a hand down my cheek, ignoring the cuts or bruises, and apologize for letting his anger get the best of him.”
Another tear falls, and I push myself up, moving to sit next to her—wanting to be the comfort she needs.
“For a moment, I thought maybe I’d get off easy.” Her voice is no more than a whisper. “I wasn’t naive enough to think he would actually ever stop. I knew the cycle of abuse—I knew enough to know I was tumbling through—but his eyes drifted from mine to my belly, and I thought maybe he was going to let me off easy because I was so close to giving birth to our daughter.”
Rumi’s eyes lift to Evee, her daughter so engrossed with the scene just a handful of yards beyond us as she munches on her PB&J—the kids running in the grass and through the colorful playground, trees swaying in the warm breeze, the sun shining overhead.
“I wanted to reach for him. At that moment, I wanted to hold him and tell him it was okay.” She looks at me, her eyes clouded with tears, more escaping down her cheek that I can’t help but wipe away with my thumb, my hand finding its rightful place on the side of her head as she leans into my touch. “Isn’t that ridiculous? He beat the crap out of me, and I wanted to comforthim.” Her shoulders shake with a sob, and I pull her into me, her face warm and wet against the side of my neck, my arms wrapping so tightly around her with no intent to ever let her go. “Then, it all happened so fast,” she whispers after a moment, the words followed by a sniffle.
“Tell me what happened, baby,” I say before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
A small sob escapes from her, and I tighten my hold around her.
“He—” She starts but then stops, her face burying further into my neck.
“I got you,” I tell her. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”
CHAPTER 28
RUMI
I nodagainst Jack’s neck, his skin warm and soft against my cheek, and I internalize his words.
He’s got me.
I’m safe.
Reliving this night is unlike anything I’ve experienced—while Ava knows I fled because of Trevor that night, I’ve never told her that he tried to kill me.
Until this moment, I’ve never told anyone exactly what happened.
I sit up, taking in a breath and letting it out, meeting Jack’s gaze. “His hands wrapped around my neck, and I couldn’t breathe. It felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head. I clawed at his hands until my fingers went numb, but he wouldn’t stop. My lungs burned, and all I could think about was how my daughter was going to die before she even got a chance to live.”
And through it all, Trevor never said a word.
He just stared at me, apathy lining his features, and I knew he was going to kill me.
Having a baby was never the plan. It wasn’t even a consideration when it came to what kind of life I pictured for myself, not after my sorry excuses for parents.
And especially not after Trevor.
I was so careful with birth control—taking my pill religiously every night and making sure they were hidden, so Trevor couldn’t find them. I was deliberate in avoiding sex as much as I could, knowing that pregnancy was always a possibility with Trevor never wanting to wear a condom.
I had to get tested almost weekly because I knew I wasn’t the only person he was sleeping with, and it was on one of my trips to the clinic that I found out I was pregnant. I realized I had missed a pill a few weeks prior after I came home exhausted from a shift at the restaurant and rushed to bed when I heard Trevor get home, too scared to find out what kind of mood he was in.
When the nurse told me, I knew I couldn’t go through with the pregnancy. I wasn’t prepared, wasn’t ready, to bring a baby into my life—not the one I was trapped in, not with the father he or she was doomed to have.
Six weeks into my pregnancy, I was set on terminating—access my right to choose, the same way I believe every person with the capacity for pregnancy should be able to do—but there was a small part of me that felt like maybe this is what had been missing from my life.
My parents were never my family, and I never had any siblings. I didn’t have friends or people in my life that made me feel like I wasn’t alone.
The night before my appointment for the abortion, I couldn’t shake this feeling that this pregnancy was my chance at a real family, one that I had longed for my whole life; one that was mine to grow and cherish; one that would be the beginning of me rewriting my story.
I reach for Jack’s hand, craving his touch but also his comfort. Holding his hand in both of mine, I bring it to rest in my lap. “One second, his fingers were squeezing into my neck,the next, my leg was kicking forward, my bare foot connecting to his groin.” I can almost feel the air that rushed into my lungs the second his hands went loose around my neck, and I’ll never forget the strained howl that came from his lips when he bent over in pain. “And before he could crumple to the floor, I clenched my fist and swung as hard as I could, aiming for the temple.”
