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“The police are here,” Lisa says, reaching for the driver’s side door handle. “That’s good.”
“Lisa…I’m going to do this alone. Thank you, though. For everything. For loving me, for being my friend even when it’s hard to do. Take care of Emma for me.”
“Mel, why are you talking like that?”
“I love you,” I tell her. I wrap my arms around her neck and choke back a sob when she hugs me back.
“I love you, too,” she says. “Call me as soon as they leave, okay?”
“Okay,” I lie.
‘Run,’ the voice in my head says again, but I ignore it, just like last time. Everything seems a little louder than it needs to be as I approach the front door—my heartbeat in my ears, the gravel of the driveway crunching beneath my sandals, the birds chirping in the trees.
It’s all so loud, just like that night on the staircase. I assume must always be there, must always sound like this, but I’ve trained my brain not to notice. This high alert setting I’m on—it must be fear. Fear is what’s causing this. I haven’t feared much in my life; I never really saw much point in it. Right now, I’m consumed by it. I wonder if this is my new norm.
I turn the knob, step inside, and it all fades away, the void replaced with a ringing in my ears.
My mom, Stella, and Frank, a local police officer sit at the kitchen table.
And there’s an extra—a woman I don’t recognize, dressed in a suit and full makeup, sitting in my kitchen on a hot Monday morning in August, fanning herself with a bright red folder while sweat drips down her face.
She’s out of place. And that’s how I know that she’s the one with all the power here.
“Sit down, Mel,” my mom says. She sets her elbows on the table, folds her hands together, and leans into them, squeezing her eyes shut.
“What’s going on?” I ask, sliding into the empty chair at the table.
“I need you to listen,” Mom says.
But I wasn’t talking to her. I was talking to Stella, the woman who maybe did raise me; the one who took care of us when my mother couldn’t. She stares at a space somewhere over my shoulder, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Stella…is he okay?” I ask, my voice breaking.
She wipes a tear from under her eye but otherwise doesn’t react to my question or presence at all.
“Amelia,” the sweaty woman in the suit starts. “Do you know what a non-disclosure agreement is?”
“No…” I reply.
“Basically, it’s a contract between two parties to keep sensitive information about a company, group, or in this case, an individual to themselves.”
I swallow hard but don’t reply, waiting for her to explain what this means for me.
She slides the folder across the table. “Go ahead and take a look; feel free to talk it over with your lawyer, but my client’s offer is very generous and will expire tonight at midnight.”
“I don’t…have a lawyer,” I tell her.
She doesn’t reply, but nods, fully aware.
My hands shake as I open the folder, all the air leaving my lungs when I see the name at the top of the page, even though I was expecting it.
Grant Owens.
And it’s quiet again—all but the ringing in my ears—as I look over the papers in front of me.
Grant wants to pay me to say that he never raped me.
More specifically, he wants to pay my family $50,000, send me to college, and will have the charges against Ty dropped in exchange for my silence—for me to tell the police and anyone else who may have listened that I made it all up.
