The pool of dread in my stomach was gone.
He looked up at me with a shy smile, and discomfort along with a strange sense of contentment fizzled inside me. This was intimate. It was intense.
This man had been inside me.
But somehow, this kitchen DIY manicure felt like a bigger moment.
A step forward toward a destination I didn’t yet understand.
Chapter 38
Celine
This was the last place I wanted to be.
I shifted on my uncomfortable heels and scratched at the hives already blooming on my arm. Fuck, I hated court.
Chloe squeezed my hand and shifted a little closer. Her presence brought a modicum of relief. I couldn’t have done this without her.
I’d considered bringing the kids and asking her to keep them during the hearing but ultimately decided to take them to school, drive to Maine, and drive home later. Stella planned to take them back to our house after school to work on homework and have dinner. With any luck, I’d be home before Julian fell asleep.
It was a three-hour drive, but I’d spent the whole trip here in a fog. I had no idea what the podcast I’d listened to was even about. I just stared at the gray sky and the road ahead of me, my coffee untouched in the cupholder, trying and failing to prepare myself to see him again.
For the last few years, Maine had meant danger. But now it meant confrontation. And I had agency. I had power. Chloe had been sending me encouraging texts all week, and though I still struggled to believe them, I read them several times a day.
A part of me, one I’d locked away, still felt small and fragile and vulnerable. And what I was doing today, it was for her.
When Josh had come over last night, he hadn’t pushed or prodded, and he hadn’t forced me to talk.
He wanted more. He’d been clear about that. He wanted me to let him all the way in.
But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not with so much still unsettled.
Chloe met me at the entrance to the prison so we could go through the security checkpoint together. Once our bags had been searched, we were given identification badges, then led to a damp waiting room with plastic chairs and fluorescent lighting. Other folks were waiting too, likely family members here for other hearings.
“You ready?” Chloe asked.
I nodded, though my stomach twisted painfully.
She squeezed my hand once more. “I’m proud of you.”
Ava, my lawyer, arrived shortly after, phone in one hand, briefcase in the other. She whipped out a file and had me review several documents, one of which was my written statement.
She was efficient and cool, treating me like a collaborator, not a fragile woman who was at risk of falling apart at any moment.
I sat with the printed copy of my statement in my hands.Rubbing the paper between my fingers and breathing, trying to ground myself in the words I’d written.
The option to appear via videocall had been appealing when Ava brought it up, but in the end, it felt important to be here. To stand up in person. I’d already said what I needed to say. The outcome was out of my hands. But good or bad, I was here to look that fucker in the eye and make sure he knew that he would not break me. That he would not intimidate me or terrorize me. That my kids weren’t living in fear anymore.
Chloe put her arm around me. “You sure you don’t want me to buy you a gun?”
“Jesus,” I hissed. We were in a prison, for God’s sake. “No. I do not want a gun.”
Her lips twitched. “How about a taser?”
“Stop it. I don’t need weapons.”
“Pepper spray?”