Everyone looked different. Of course they did. There were no ankle-length dark skirts or long-sleeved blouses. No long hair pulled into buns. Instead, they wore colorful T-shirts and jeans. Some had on makeup. Hair was in a range of styles and new colors.

Kit gave a half-laugh. “You’ve…changed.

They burst out laughing—another surprise. Women rarely laughed in the PZ compound, especially loudly enough to be heard.

Everyone gathered around to hug her. Whispers and murmurs filled the air. “We were so worried.” “You were hurt so badly.” “I can never thank you enough.”

Eventually, Mary clapped her hands together. “Sit, y’all. Let the girl breathe.”

Smiling, they backed away, merging into one big blur through Kit’s tear-filled eyes. She blinked hard. “Look at you all.”

They were no longer gaunt. No one had bruises or cuts or black eyes. No one limped as they took seats on the couches, chairs, and the rug.

In the corner, the teens watching the younger children waved at Kit.

She waved back, and her heart felt…happy. After being reluctant to see the women again, now she was glad she had come.

A chair had been left empty for her, and she sat, putting the tote at her feet.

“Okay, I just need to put this out here.” Miriam leaned forward, hands clasped together. “Kit, thank you. On that night, you were only half-conscious, and still, you cared enough to order us to get off our butts. To escape with your rescuers. I was frigging scared, but you got me moving. Thank you.”

A chorus of agreement filled the air.

Kit felt a knot inside her ease. She’d felt incredibly guilty that people had risked their lives to rescue her. But if they hadn’t, these women would still be imprisoned and abused in the PZ compound.

“You look better than I thought you would.” Mary had always been the unofficial leader of the women. “Did you just get out of the hospital?”

“It’s been about two weeks. I’m staying with my friend, Frankie. She arranged our rescue.”

“But what about therapy?” Serena said hesitantly, “We get counseling here, one-on-one and group sessions and all that. It’s…I…” She glanced at the others and caught their encouraging smiles. “We needed it. You might too.”

“Oh, I did. I do.” Kit half-laughed. “Even before I was released, they were wheeling me to counseling sessions. And now I see a counselor at the local health clinic.”

“Not group?” someone asked.

Kit shook her head. One-on-one was good. Group, well, she wasn’t so keen. She’d managed to avoid it so far.

“I’m glad you’re seeing a counselor,” Miriam said. “The group therapy, though. It helps in a different way.”

Daisy nodded. “The sessions are hard, but somehow, it helps hearing others went through abuse too. Learning how they handle problems, and what worked and didn’t work and—”