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Not one glance.
Not a word.
He made me feel like a ghost, wandering without cause.
Each morning, as I watched Henry’s back disappear into the elevator, a lone tear escaped my eye. At least he is alive and safe. That’s all that matters.
I was determined to fight for a relationship and live a life on a sinking ship until he threw me a life jacket and offered me a chance to explain or, at the very least, apologize.
Harper, my best friend, was right; I should have moved away years ago. I can't continue to fight for a brother who seems determined to stay distant and detached no matter what the cost.
I have been fighting a losing battle for three long years.
It’s time to move on.
It’s time to run.
It’s time to start living with hope and not fear.
People have conveniently forgotten what happened three years ago. Time just breezed on for them. For me, time felt like hurricane-force winds trying to topple me over, but now things are starting to settle. The storm has passed, and shockingly, I survived.
As for Andrew, well, he likes his toys close, and since I wasn’t trapped in his toy box, time allowed him to forget about me. He really did give me time, but the best part about time is new, shiny toys caught his attention.
He’s trapped another.
Of course, I feel bad. Terrible. Guilty.
I also feel free.
Does that make me a monster? Debatable.
Paranoid? Absolutely.
Maybe that is the punishment Andrew wanted me to endure. He never truly wanted me; he just wanted to break me. Scare me.
He did.
I realized during this time away from him that it wasn’t just physical abuse Andrew loved—it was more mental. You see, physical pain is fleeting, bruises fade, but mental scars linger. Andrew wanted to taint my future. He wanted to poison me for others. He liked to trap me in my own mind. His threats turned my own thoughts into cage bars. It was all just a mind game I allowed him to play.
My mental fear of Andrew returning has led me to google him weekly to make sure he is still dating the other poor girl. It also allows me to see where he’s at, which so far has been far away from our hometown. I half-expected Andrew to resurface like an incurable disease, but nope. I thought he'd send a letter or a text to ensure I remain 'smart' and not do something 'stupid,' but he's too cunning for that; he can't leave a paper trail.
His little act of radio silence? Best fear tactic in the book. Not a peep, and it had me on edge that entire first year. In the second year, his family packed up and moved to D.C. to fulfill his father's political dreams. Then, just three months ago, I stumbled upon an article that I practically memorized. Andrew got engaged to Kimberly Prescott.
I'm just a fading memory of a sick game.
But you know what doesn't fade? The nightmarish replay of that night etched in my dreams. Every time I catch a glimpse of Andrew's smug mug in a gossip rag or on the news, I can't help but recall every damn detail. They all see the golden boy; they refer to him as America's prince. Young and handsome, and the odds are stacked for his dad's shot at the presidency.
Me? I've seen the other side—the one they conveniently ignore. Politics is fitting for his family. No politician has clean hands.
I owe it to Peter, my parents, and Harper, who has never abandoned me, to try to not just survive but actually start living. The pain I have felt amounts to a thousand love stories with brutal endings. No one should have to suffer this.
I’m finally tired of exposing myself to it.
That’s what I have been doing, purposely putting myself in Henry’s path, shoving more self-inflicted emotions down my throat. Forcing myself to swallow. Mentally making myself insane. I continually check up on Andrew’s social media to know where he is so I can sleep at night, knowing he won’t burst through my door.
No more.
With my trust fund now safely in my account, I can run far, far away. If I can’t repair my family, I’ll just make a new one.
