Page 227 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

She would usually take the bus, but flagged a passing cab instead. Just as she slid into the back seat and tossed her mostly-empty tote bag to the floor, something caught her eye across the street.

Or rather, someone.

Two people, actually.

Elena Guzzi was just coming out of a specialty boutique, her arms loaded with several bags. A large-brimmed hat keeping half of her face hidden, but Cara would recognize the woman anywhere. At the end of the street, Domenic—Gian’s younger brother—waited for Elena, already holding the passenger side door open for the woman to get inside the car.

That was all Cara saw before her cab pulled away from the side of the road, leaving the scene behind.

Still, an angry ache had settled in Cara’s chest at the sight of Gian’s wife. After their first run in, Cara had been left feeling so ashamed for her involvement with Gian and the pregnancy. But after, once she had learned more of the story, and the things Gian told Cara, she didn’t think that run in with Elena had been accidental at all.

And neither had her pity party lies about losing a baby, or not being able to have more children.

Was Cara imperfect?

Were her actions immoral?

Was she a sinner in this?

Absolutely.

Yes, on every single account.

But something told Cara that Elena Guzzi was not all too innocent, either.

None of them were.

Cara held the hands of the young, high-risk domestic abuse victim across from her while Jenny continued to explain what was going to happen from there on out. Melinda, at only twenty-two, had just been dealt another difficult blow in what was an already horrible time in her life.

Two weeks after the beating her husband had served down on her, and the woman was at least beginning to look better. The black and blue bruising on her face had faded to a yellow that was easy to cover. Her broken nose was no longer swollen, and she was able to open her right eye again. The busted vessels in her left eye were also healing, and no longer drew attention, as they had when nearly the entire white of the eyeball had been a bloody, ghastly red.

Melinda tried to smile when Cara offered her hands a squeeze, but it faltered at the last second. Outside appearances were deceiving, and there had never been a better example of that than a woman who had learned to hide the signs of her spouse’s abuse.

This woman had been hiding hers since she was eighteen.

“So, he got bail,” Melinda whispered.

So soft spoken.

Still afraid.

Never weak, though.

Cara repeated that sentiment to Melinda when the woman was willing to listen. She was not weak. She was brave, courageous, wonderful, and deserved beautiful things. All the beautiful things she wanted would and could be hers.

“He did get bail,” Jenny said, “and since this is his first charge on his record, we expected that. The restraining order is still in place and the police officer on the case was kind enough to alert us that he is free on bail, until the next court date.”

Melinda wet her lips, her gaze darting between the floor and the wall. “He knows where I am.”

“The restraining order is still in place, but should he come to the shelter, we have policies in place that will keep you and everyone else perfectly safe.”

“Except he doesn’t care about those kinds of things. He never has. He said he would kill me; he almost did. He’s—”

“Melinda,” Cara said softly, “take a breath. Take a moment to breathe.”

The young woman did, but Cara could plainly see it didn’t help all that much.

“This is the first time I’ve ever left him,” Melinda mumbled. “This wasn’t even the worst beating, it was just the first time someone helped. I don’t … He won’t … I’m scared.”