“No, this isn’t reverse psychology or anything. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I know maybe this isn’t a good time after all you’ve been through this week, but I wanted you to know I never meant to hurt you. I . . . I’ve always loved you, Aria, and I want you to do what you feel is right.”

“It doesn’t feel right putting you in jail, Ry.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, and seeing his face glistening in the light, she realized he was crying. “I was wrong. I probably did take advantage of you, and I should take responsibility for that. My mom’s been lecturing me about how men exploit and abuse women. I resisted at first, because I didn’t want to think I had done that to you, but she’s right. Don’t let me off the hook just because you’re afraid. I won’t resent you for it, I swear. I love you, Aria, and I know you’ll do what’s right for you.”

Aria opened her mouth to protest, but he was gone. He slipped back into the shadows and drifted off down the darkened street. Aria considered his words, his maturity, his willingness to change a world where women were victimized, where her own mother had been emotionally and physically abused, and where Aria had lost her voice in the babel of judgment and shame and fear. The time was ripe to remind the world that women deserved more, that women should never be silenced.

And the time for men to get away with stealing women’s souls was over.

Chapter 44

Mackenzie

TWO WEEKS LATER

My hands trembled as I held the letter postmarked from the Allegheny County Jail. It was from Susan Faust, the woman who had murdered my husband—at least before I had attempted to. We had that in common, I guess.

I opened the envelope and unfolded the white college-ruled paper covered in hasty scribble:

Dear Mackenzie Fischer,

I can’t say I’m sorry for what I did, because that would be a lie. We both lost people we loved, but when you think about it, we all got what we deserved. Your husband was a killer, my son was a rapist, I was a thief and an addict and a negligent mother. Karma’s a bitch, huh?

The only victim here is you. And for that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry to have made you a widow and made your daughter fatherless. But it was never Owen’s call to play judge, jury, and executioner with my son. And it wasn’t my call to do the same with Owen. But we did what we did because at the time we thought it was righting a wrong of some sort, even through the act of committing wrongs ourselves.