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She vowed never to forgive him for the pain he had inflicted upon me.But maybe that’s the part Evie couldn’t understand.He had been a victim, just like me.He was groomed at a very young age by people who made him believe that they were caring for him.
I could sense her anger, her frustration with him and the world.Yet, even in her brokenness, she refused to direct any hatred toward me—her aggressor.She urged me to seek therapy and buy books that might help with my healing process.
Evie couldn’t understand that I couldn’t talk or we would lose the only lifeline we had.That was when she bought me the journal.Pouring my thoughts onto the pages of my pink journal became a source of strength, a pathway to understanding that not everything was as I had once believed.
When I mustered the courage to ask Evie what kept her going after all we had endured, she responded with unwavering resolve, “Once the trial begins, we will have the opportunity to speak our truth.I will no longer hide in fear, wondering what might happen if they evade justice.Instead, I will be the key to protecting women like us from their clutches.”
She also mentioned the men she loved and would be waiting for her.Evie waited patiently for her turn to speak, to unleash her truth and bring liberation to those who had suffered at the hands of men like them.
And I, too, stood ready to join her in this battle.We were prepared to face the world until everything shifted.The authorities began striking deals, offering reduced sentences to those men in exchange for cooperation.
Suddenly, our testimonies held little significance, and the hardships we had endured seemed inconsequential.Even my father secured a deal, a mere few years behind bars in exchange for information.
Our protection slipped through our fingers.We stood on the brink of being expelled from the program, our safety hanging by a thread.Panic consumed me, and Evie began to experience the torment of withdrawal.
“What will become of us?”Evie implored our handler, desperation seeping into her voice.
“I’m uncertain.We’re working tirelessly to devise a plan that ensures your safety even outside the program,” he responded, his own uncertainty palpable.
Yet, a month later, fate took an unexpected turn.Some of the individuals who had been directly involved with my father began to disappear.A few were imprisoned, but killed while in prison, and others lurked in the shadows, hiding from the authorities.My father was pulled out of jail, forging an agreement to keep us safe, even as we stepped outside the realm of WITSEC.
Evie and I couldn’t feel safe.She had stayed in one piece until she knew there was no way she could go back to her life with the men she loved, and she’d always be in danger.
We weren’t safe from anything.
The list of the people involved is in the back of this memoir.The names of my family were changed, preserving an illusion of safety.Everyone involved, who matters, is gone.
ChapterForty-Two
“You can’t halt the surge of the future, nor wind back the hands of the past.To uncover the enigma that lies within ...one must bravely press play.”—Jay Asher
I discoveredthe undeniable truth behind the saying: “Fear is the prison of the heart,” and its profound significance resonated with me.After being kicked out of WITSEC, our lives were veiled in constant trepidation.
No one dared to venture beyond the confines of our modest apartment.Though we possessed the means to secure a better home or flee the country, we couldn’t.Then there was the haunting question that lingered: What if someone discovered our whereabouts and killed us?
This fear was not unfounded.Before Christmas, tragedy struck.The authorities labeled it a car accident, but deep down, we believed it was more.
The thing about being silent and harboring fear is that it eats you from the inside slowly.It consumes your soul and your heart until there’s nothing left.You’re a shell that can’t bear to exist.It’s then when you can’t continue to live, and you believe nothing is worth it anymore.Life has no taste, and the color has been drained.
Regret, remorse, and the scars we inflicted on those we held dear plagued our every waking moment.We couldn’t bear to coexist with our own reflections any longer.One day, we resolved that a life spent hiding from the world and forsaking love, smiles, and dances held no value.
If you won’t be able to love again or to smile or to dance ...And so, one day, you made a choice.
You find the best way to end it before the rest of your life becomes a prison or someone else kills you.But upon reading the farewell letter—the final goodbye—suffused with apologies for the harm caused, your world, too, shattered into a million fragmented pieces.And when you discover the lifeless body of the remaining person in your life, a small fragment of your soul dies with them.
But there are things that can’t be stopped.There are wounds so deep you can’t heal with words but actions.If only we had been granted the ability to voice our truth, if they hadn’t silenced us, perhaps the world would have heeded our plight.Alas, few consider the plight of the victims before the tragedy befalls them.
This book isn’t just about one family.It encompasses the countless families robbed of their loved ones due to their inability to speak out.These innocent souls endured unspeakable horrors because those entrusted with their care failed to shield them.Silence, as we discovered, is a lethal weapon.
If there’s something you can take from here is to listen to the victims, act, and protect them fiercely before it is too late.
ChapterForty-Three
Sanford
When Greyson readsthe last sentences, we both go silent.The one phrase that reverberates in my mind, repeating like a sinister mantra, is: Silence, as we discovered, is a lethal weapon.
“Silence ...silence killed her,” I find myself voicing aloud.No, not merely voicing, I scream it as if the very act could shatter the oppressive silence that’s fallen over us.
