She doesn’t look at me. Her voice is distant and hollow. “I… I don’t know. I couldn’t save her.”
The words hit like a stone in my chest.
She’s not talking about herself.
“Who couldn’t you save?” I ask gently, crouching beside the tub. I need to keep her talking—keep her tethered to something real so she doesn’t sink back into that bottomless pit. Her voice is the only sign I have that she’s still in there.
Her arms tighten around her knees, knuckles white as she curls into herself. “Lea,” she whispers. “She… they broke her.”
The words crack in her throat, and my heart breaks for her. She’s not just remembering—she’s reliving it. Her wholebody trembles, like the memory is something physical clawing its way out of her.
“What did they do?” I ask, even though I already know. I’ve seen enough to fill in the blanks. But she needs to say it. Needs to own it on her terms.
She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head like she can shake the images loose. Her voice is barely audible when it comes. “They raped her. And they killed her.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
I want to reach for her. Want to pull her into my arms and shield her from everything she’s seen, everything she’s survived. But there’s no shielding her now. No undoing what’s been done.
I wish I could take it all from her—the pain, the memories, the weight of guilt she never should have had to carry. I wish I could make her unsee the horrors I know too well.
Trafficking rings don’t just destroy bodies—they dismantle souls. And the things these girls endure… no one walks away untouched.
But she’s still here.
Still breathing.
Still fighting, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
And I’ll be here, every step of the way, until she remembers how to live again.
“Look at me, Nell,” I say, voice steady but low. She lifts her eyes without hesitation, locking onto mine with the most clarity I’ve seen in her since she came home. The way she holds my gaze—it’s raw, almost defiant. Like part of her still wants to fight.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I tell her, holding that eye contact, refusing to let her sink back into silence. “I’ve seen what they do—how they twist things, make you think it was on you. But it wasn’t. None of it. You didn’t do this. They did. And now you’re safe.” I reach out slowly, lifting my hand from the bathwater to stroke the soft line of her jaw—just enough to let her know I’m here, that this touch is hers to accept or refuse.
She snaps her hand around mine, fast—so fast it steals my breath. It’s the first time she’s moved with any force since I pulled her from that car.
“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice sharp, carved from pain.
“Don’t what?” I ask, not backing down.
Her jaw tightens but her grip doesn’t loosen. “Don’t pretend there’s any way to come back from this. I’m not worth your time anymore. You should’ve left me—”
I cut the words off with my lips. Soft, but firm. Unshakable. Her breath catches against mine, and I press my forehead to hers, grounding us both, our eyes falling closed like the outside world doesn’t matter.
“You’re worth everything, trouble,” I murmur, voice shaking but resolute. “More than I ever knew. And I swear to you, I’m going to destroy every bastard who laid a hand on you. Every one of them. But you’re not going to stay broken. You don’t get to fall now. Not while I’m here.”
Tears slide down her cheeks, silent and slow, emotion finally catching up to her like an avalanche.
“I’m too broken, Cam,” she whispers. “I don’t think I know how to come back from this.”
“You don’t have to know,” I whisper back, brushing my thumb gently beneath her eye. “You just have to try. I’ll do the rest.”
49
Nell
It’s been a few days since I came home, and I’m only just starting to fall back into a routine. Routine matters. It gives structure, something solid to hold onto. Without it, things unravel—fast.
