Chapter 10
Six months later.
The sun was shining on the brand-new building.
A large sign out front read:
THE ELEANOR HALE CENTER FOR SURVIVORS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE
Named after my mom.
Today was opening day.
Six months of hard work, of planning, of building, of hiring staff, of raising money—all leading to this moment.
Uncle Arthur had donated the land and half the construction costs.
I’d paid for the other half with the restitution money and a large chunk of my trust fund.
Mia was on the board of directors.
The center had thirty beds for women and children escaping abuse.
It had counseling offices, job training rooms, a playground for the kids, a full kitchen, and a large common room where women could gather, talk, and heal.
I was the director.
It was the hardest job I’d ever had.
And the best.
I stood on the small stage at the front of the common room, looking out at the crowd.
There were hundreds of people there.
Donors.
Volunteers.
Local politicians.
Reporters.
And most importantly, the first twenty residents of the center—women and children who’d already moved in, who were already starting their new lives.
My mom was sitting in the front row.
Her hair was growing back, soft and curly, after the chemo.
She looked healthy.
Happy.
She was going to be fine.
Uncle Arthur was next to her, grinning like a proud father.
Mia was next to him, holding a stack of programs, also grinning.
I took a deep breath and started to speak.
“Six months ago,” I said, “I was standing in a hospital lobby, on my knees, being told I was worthless by the man I’d married. I thought my life was over. I thought no one would ever believe me. I thought I’d never be happy again.
“I was wrong.
“Because I had family. I had friends. I had people who loved me, who stood by me, who helped me fight back. And today, this center is for all the women who don’t have that yet. Who are still on their knees. Who still think they’re alone.
“You are not alone.
“You are not worthless.
“You are strong.
“You are loved.
“And you will get through this.
“This center is more than just a shelter. It’s a place to heal. A place to learn. A place to find your voice again. A place to start over. No one here will ever judge you. No one here will ever tell you you’re not good enough. You are safe here. You are home.”
The crowd erupted in applause.
I looked down at my mom.
She was crying, clapping so hard her hands were red.
I stepped off the stage and walked over to her.
She stood and hugged me.
“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. “Your dad would be so, so proud.”
“Thank you,” I whispered back. “For everything.”
After the ceremony, people came up to congratulate me.
Donors wrote checks.
Volunteers signed up for shifts.
Reporters asked for interviews.
And then, a man walked over.
He was tall, with messy brown hair and kind blue eyes, wearing jeans and a faded flannel shirt.
He was holding a large box of children’s books.
“Hi,” he said, smiling. “I’m Ethan. I run the job training program at the community center downtown. I heard about what you were doing here, and I wanted to help. I brought some books for the kids. And I’d love to set up a job training class here, if you’re interested. Help the women get back on their feet.”
I smiled back.
“I’d love that,” I said. “Thank you, Ethan. That means a lot.”
We talked for twenty minutes, about the program, about the center, about our lives.
He was funny.
Smart.
Genuine.
When he left, he gave me his phone number.
“Call me anytime,” he said. “About the program. Or… anything else.”
I put the number in my pocket.
I wasn’t sure if I was ready to date yet.
But for the first time in a long time, the idea didn’t scare me.
Later that afternoon, after all the guests had left, I walked out to the back porch of the center.
The kids were playing on the playground, laughing and screaming, their voices bright in the warm air.
My mom came out and sat next to me on the bench.
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
“Nice guy, that Ethan,” she said, grinning.
I laughed.
“Mom,” I said.
“What?” she said. “I’m just saying. He’s cute. And he seems nice. And you deserve someone nice.”
She paused.
“Are you happy, baby?” she asked, her voice softer now. “Really happy?”
I looked out at the playground.
At the kids laughing.
At the sun setting over the trees, painting the sky pink and orange.
I thought of Daniel and Lila, in prison, paying for what they’d done.
I thought of the center, full of women who were going to get their happy endings too.
I thought of my mom, healthy and whole next to me.
I thought of Uncle Arthur and Mia, my family by blood and by choice.
I thought of the scar on my wrist, faint now, a reminder of how far I’d come.
I took a deep breath.
The air smelled like jasmine and cut grass.
I felt safe.
I felt loved.
I felt confident.
Stronger than I’d ever been in my life.
I squeezed my mom’s hand.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “I’m really, really happy.”
She squeezed back.
We sat there for a long time, watching the kids play, watching the sun go down.
The past was behind me.
The future was bright.
May you like
And for the first time in my life?
I knew, without a single doubt, that everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.
