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“This isn’t over.”
“I know, Cassie.” I smile at her feistiness as I watch the doors close.
Chapter Nineteen
I start up the stairs.
Anger spreads through me like cracked ice on a frozen pond.
The place looks familiar. Yeah, this isn’t the first time I’ve been to this address.
Fuck. A return call rarely happens. I once saw one of my Julias on the news after her abuser killed her. She went back.
Why do they fucking go back?
Honestly, I don’t like to ask that question.
Then I’d have to wonder why Mom stayed so long with the sperm donor.
I glance around as I rap my knuckles on the door.
It cracks open. Brown eyes encircled in black and blue peer up at me.
Shit. I remember her. She’s young. Her abuser was at least ten years older than her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She opens the door. “He’s not here. He went out for smokes.”
I enter the house, inspecting the surroundings.
I want to yell at her.
I know better, though. She’s been through enough. The evidence is all over her bruised body.
“Don’t say it.” She lifts a bruised and shaky hand. “I fucked up.” She grabs a duffel bag from the floor. “Here.” She shoves it at me.
I take it.
“I shouldn’t have come back. I know.” She hands me another bag.
“How much shit do you have? You know the rules.”
“Yeah, I know the rules, but—” She heads toward the living room.
There’s a cry.
“Fuck.” I sigh, recognizing the noise. In these situations, it’s the worst sound.
She picks up the car seat holding a baby. “It’s not just me this time” —she glances my way— “and she needs all that shit.”
That frozen anger inside starts to crack. Why the fuck would she come back to her abuser with a baby?
I lock my jaw, not allowing the ice to crack any further. “Let’s go.”
I get to the door and look outside.
I fucking hate when kids are involved.
