Page 58 of Nyx

"He went weeks without hitting me once," she counters, still making excuses for her abuser.

"Change is measured in years, not weeks, Kayla. It's about addressing beliefs, not just behavior, and until he takes full responsibility for his actions, he can't even begin to recover."

She nods, no doubt having heard all of this before.

"I can tell you that if your goal is to get Aleah back, then you need to let go of any idea of a reconciliation with him. Accept that even if he does all the treatment, counseling, and even goes years and years without hurting another person, being with him shouldn't be a consideration for you."

"Let him go?"

I nod. "Let him go."

More tears drip from her eyes, but she sits a little straighter in her chair.

"Let him go," she repeats as if trying to convince her brain to get on board. "Have you let go of your abuser?"

I give her a weak smile, but I don't answer. Giving any kind of personal answer in one of these situations isn't good for either person involved.

"No two stories are the same," I say instead. "Let's focus on the things you need to do to get back to a normal life with Aleah."

She frowns at me but doesn't try to dig deeper.

I know women in these situations want to feel like they aren't alone. They want to know the successes of others so they can work toward those goals themselves. But even though I've not seen my abuser in over ten years, I don't feel like a success story anyone should be referencing on how to overcome their situation. Graham, even in his absence, still controls every action in my life out of my fear of him.

"I have in my notes that you'll meet with a representative from victim services tomorrow. Why don't I show you to your room, so you can get unpacked in time for lunch with the others?"

"Okay," she says, but she doesn't stand until I do.

"All the rooms are upstairs," I say, waiting for her to exit the room before stepping out myself.

She follows closely behind me, the straps of her bags in her hands.

"We have a basic supply of hygiene items, but we keep an active shopping list going. If there's anything specific that you need, let me know by this evening, and it'll be picked up tomorrow."

"Who does the shopping?"

I pause at the top of the stairs, turning back to look at her.

"I don't exactly know. I've only been working here a few days," I tell her with a quick laugh.

She smiles, but it doesn't meet her eyes.

"You'll be in this room here," I say, directing her to the room Victoria showed me the other day.

"What's the orange circle for?" she asks, noticing it outside the door.

"Room identification," I explain. "We have to know who's in what room, and names outside the rooms seem too institutional."

I pull out my key ring and take off the key with the orange circle.

"Your key."

She takes it, looking down at it in the palm of her hand.

"Who else has one?" she asks.

"Staff has a master key, but we won't invade your space unless it's necessary."

Her gaze drifts from the key back to me.