Something inside me broke open that night. I cried until I felt hollow. Lucienne held me through the storm. She repeated that I was free. The word free felt too light to contain the truth.
Therapy became a place to unravel the knots he tied in my thoughts. Dr. Selma Reeve listened without judgment. She helped me understand that control can be gentle. Manipulation can sound like care. Danger can hide inside routine.
I began to piece together small memories. Times Silas insisted I cancel plans. Times he reminded me how overwhelmed I looked. Times he spoke for me when he said I was tired. I had mistaken intrusion for affection. Dependence disguised as protection.
One evening, after therapy, I noticed a black sedan idling across the street. Its tinted windows reflected only the sky. Something about the stillness made my skin crawl. I tried to ignore it. Trauma made ghosts out of shadows. I told myself not to see danger in every quiet corner.
That night, Harper called.
“Silas petitioned for bail,” he said. “It was denied.”
Relief collided with dread.
“He still tried to claim you were unstable,” he added. “He argued that your statements were exaggerated by anxiety.”