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“Look,” I said. “Even when people have the very best of intentions, and even if they’re attempting to be unselfish, it is never possible for them to separate their desire for you from their own desire for themselves. That’s why—if you listen—if you give in— if you allow yourself to be led, without asking what it is they want from you, or who and what it is they want you to be, you will always be playing a losing game.”
One night, the same week as that conversation with Hayley, I am in bed when Michael gets in. Although I’m not yet fully asleep, I’m not in the mood for playing nice, for make-believe, and so I pretend. I listen as he climbs into bed. It makes my skin crawl to have to sleep next to a man who would harm my child, but life is full of hard things.
He rolls over and kisses my cheek, and whispers, “Tell me, Charlotte. What are you supposed to do when you can’t let something go, but you can’t kill it either?” And just for a moment, I can’t be sure I?
?m not dreaming.
I am home for six days when Michael’s mom brings the girls home. I have learned a lot in that time. A thorough search of my husband’s computer tells me many things that I need to know, but not everything. I will need to talk with Sophie about her father. And it will need to happen soon. I refuse to let him near my children, but prison time, while perhaps the simplest solution, does not feel like enough. Furthermore, it will further thrust my family into the spotlight; having to give a deposition, and possibly testify, will only further damage my daughter. She has already suffered enough. She does not need to lose her anonymity, too.
Plus, I could never live with myself, knowing I’ve killed other men for less. Rotting in a prison cell is not enough.
A scan of Michael’s computer tells me that JC Warren was right about most of what he said. Michael is trading and selling girls and has been for some time. While he doesn’t do the heavy lifting, so to speak, encrypted emails prove that he is definitely involved. He is the mastermind.
He has a lot of money in offshore accounts, some of which he hides in real estate. Under various aliases. But there’s more. Michael has other children. Multiple children with multiple women, most of them born to young women who are either incarcerated for prostitution, drugs, or who are missing or dead. Four daughters and a son, all younger than Hayley. It is unclear where they reside. But he provides for them monetarily.
How is it possible to live with a stranger, when all along you thought it was you who had all the secrets? A question I have asked myself endlessly. Maybe that was a part of the scam. It’s hard to see truth about others when you’re so busy trying to conceal it yourself. When I look in the mirror, I look like a shell of who I used to be. My life today compared to six weeks ago is nearly unrecognizable.
Suffice it to say, my self-esteem is not at an all-time high.
I do not consider myself to be a stupid person, and yet, I have managed to ignore the reality of my situation for years. Meanwhile, seemingly everyone around me saw through Michael and his lies. Even my own daughter.
Was I meant to be one of his girls, back at the very beginning when he showed up at that fraternity party? Is that why he was there? He was obviously older—was he in search of prey? Had he planned this from the very beginning? Realizing that the answer is likely yes makes me physically sick. And yet, it changes nothing.
After I am certain Michael is asleep, I sneak into Sophie’s room, where I shake her awake. “Soph—”
Her eyes shoot open, and I wonder how many times she’s done this before. How many times has she been terrified? And worse?
“Sophie,” I say through gritted teeth, perching myself on the edge of her bed. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me.”
Her face falls, but she recovers quickly. “Is it about the money?”
“The money? No.”
“Oh,” she says. “Because I told him you’d find out. I mean…I knew you would.”
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Not only has he been molesting my daughter, he’s been paying for her silence. ’“Sophie,” I say wincing. “Soph—I’m so sorry. I know I haven’t been around a lot.”
“That’s not true,” she tells me, sensing trouble. “You’re around.”
“Sophie, I need to know…” I pause and scan the room. Chewing at my bottom lip, I say, “I need to know if your father has been hurting you.”
Her brow furrows. “Hurting me?”
“Yes. Hurting you. Has he behaved in any way inappropriately with you…sexually?”
She scoots backward on the bed. “Ew. No. Why would you say such a thing?” Her face twists and finally she cocks her head as though she’s just remembered something. “Wait. Are you on drugs?”
“No. I’m serious, Sophie. This is not something you should lie to me about.”
She scoots to the edge of the bed and stands up. “I can’t believe you! I can’t believe you’d ask me that! Dad would never hurt me. You know that.”
Suddenly, all of that pent up teenage anger shows itself and she bares her teeth. Suddenly, I’m inclined to believe her. Suddenly, I realize the rage she is exhibiting is not entirely genuine. She is hiding something. “The money…what were you talking about?”
“Nothing,” she scoffs. “Get out.”
“Sophie. You’re going to tell me the truth. And you’re going to tell me now.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. Dad was right. You’re going to make it this huge thing. You act like I’m a child!”
