I hold her hard to my body as if I can block the painful memories. But I can’t. That’s the truth. I can’t block the memories. I can’t fix her past. I have to live with that helplessness, and it’s killing me. How ironic is that? She’s the one who has to live with that pain, but I’m the one breaking apart. “You shouldn’t have to be terrified. Not ever, not by anything. Especially not Joe Causey. Don’t you see? I can’t let you testify, Jane. I can’t accept that.”

She pulls back, and the few inches between us feels like miles. “And I have to testify.”

We’re at an impasse. For the first time in our relationship, a true impasse. It can’t be overcome. At least, that’s what it feels like. I’m still holding her, one arm around her waist, the other cupping her jaw. I’m touching her, but even as my grip tightens, I can feel her slipping away.

Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

Emily Rochester

You get a book deal, you have to write the book. That’s the whole point of submitting your proposal to agents and editors. Of getting a large sum deposited in my bank account for an advance. Which means there’s a book I need to write.

It’s more than the book deal. I need to write it for myself, too.

My memoir is a vital thing, like consuming food or drinking water, but for my soul. Or is it my heart? Whatever part of me holds this burning desire to speak my truth about what happened to me. The memories are poison, and I need to let them go if I’m going to keep living.

It’s for me. And even for Paige, who deserves a mother less burdened by the past.

And even for other women, who might be in the same situation. Other women who might think there’s no way out, no hope for the future. Every word I write is for them.

That is, when I do manage to write words. Right now? Not so much.

The cursor blinks in the open document. I’m not starting with a blank page. Not exactly. I’ve already written about ten chapters. The first few words—those were painful.

These are turning out to be painful, too, but for a different reason.

I want to hold on to the high of being in Paris with Mateo.

Except for those few minutes when Paige was missing, it was magical. The joy on my daughter’s face while we were on Mateo’s favorite roller coaster was a balm. I put her through hell, but that day in Disneyland was a little piece of heaven. Not nearly enough to make up for the time I was gone, but it was something.

A bright memory to outshine the dark ones.