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“Don't be ridiculous,” he says. “And tonight happened because you were corrupted. Because there's something dark inside you, and you allowed it to take over.”

There's no point in arguing with him about Leila or Kelly Maguire. Have I even once, in nearly nineteen years, seen him admit to an error? Even now, faced with a horrendous accusation, he’s simply turned it around on me.

I climb into the van's third row and find the bag. As I pull off the dress, tears stream. I left the pool house so fast that I didn't even put on a bra or underwear. I guess Ford gets to keep those—a trophy.

Yet he brought my shoes, as if he had no idea what I was walking into.

What was he going to say?

Some piece of me still hopes this was all a mistake when I know it can't be. He really told Leila he was going to get my dad back through me. Maybe the way I responded that first time he flicked my nipple gave him the idea that I would be easily corrupted. And I was. What did it take? A few kind words, some attention, a rice bowl from Chipotle?

He's always been so careful not to do anything to ruin his future, and I’d think a sex tape is exactly the sort of thing he’d avoid, but I suppose watching your sister go through what Leila did sent his normal caution to the wind. I've got to stop making excuses for him. He did it. All of it. And because he did, I don't know when, or if, I'll ever see my sisters again.

Kappy, Alex, Lauren, Zoe. They’ll all be halfway done with college by the time I return, and it’s not as if I’ll return to Penhallow. I’ll be stuck in New Hope, surrounded by people who monitor me the second I leave the community’s borders.

I’ll probably never see any of them again. But when I cry, my tears are mostly over Ford. I shouldn’t care that I won’t see him again, but I do.

God, I do. I remain in the third row until the bright lights of Orlando International Airport flood the car. When we reach the curb, a serious man in a dark suit opens the side door. He's built like a linebacker. I don't recognize him from New Hope.

I step out. “Come on,” he says, taking my bag. I glance at my father, but he is facing forward, as if he's a cab driver who's just delivered a stranger to her destination.

He's never going to forgive me, but I'm not about to forgive him either.

The man shepherds me through the airport and waits at the gate with me. I ask if I can use the bathroom, and he tells me to wait until we're on the plane.

I don't even know his name.

I could run, but he'd probably stop me, and where would I even go? I’ve got no money, no diploma, and no college acceptances. Leaving for Bolivia is a poor bird in hand, but it’s better than none.

Eventually, we are called to board.

I’ve never been on a plane before, and the whole process is stressful and confusing. There's some specific number that tells you when it's your turn to board, though I don't even have my ticket. People jostle in line to climb on, then jostle in the aisle of the plane, moving forward then waiting, all of us held up by one person struggling to get a suitcase into the overhead.

It takes us twelve hours, including a layover in Bogota. We don't eat a single meal, and the man never says a word to me.

At customs, we stand in another long line. We walk together when it's our turn, and he hands the agent my passport, then takes the passport from me after the agent hands it back.

We continue on to baggage claim, where Tommy waits.

He smiles at me and clasps my hand between his own. “Welcome to Bolivia,” he says. “How was your flight?”

There are tears in my eyes as I try to smile back.

He is not Ford, and Ford is still who I want. How long will it take before I stop longing for him as if he's someone who deserved my care?

“Good,” I whisper.

He leads me to a broken-down old 4Runner with the silent man in our wake. It's only once I've climbed inside that the man departs.

Without saying a word, of course.

Tommy navigates us through Santa Cruz, which is lively and pretty and the sort of place I once dreamed of exploring, and then onto back roads, increasingly rural.

How will I escape if I need to?

I guess the question is pointless. I don't have a penny to my name. I've got no way of leaving, even if I wanted to.

I start to cry and Tommy pats my shoulder. “You've been up all night. You'll feel better once you've slept.”