Текст книги "Convicted"

Автор книги: Aleatha Romig

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Copyright © 2013 Aleatha Romig

Published by Aleatha Romig

2013 Edition

Edited by Lucy D’Andrea and Sherry Weir

ISBN e-book: 978-0-9884891-4-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is available in print from most on line retailers.

2013 Edition License

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the appropriate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Interior design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Epilogue

–A Note from Aleatha-

–Behind His Eyes-

–Aleatha Romig-

Thank you to everyone who has made my story and Tony and Claire—real!

I couldn’t continue to spend untold hours sitting at my computer and interacting with readers if it weren’t for the love, devotion, AND patience of my husband and children. Thank you!

Thank you to my fantastic group of betas, affectionately known as Aleatha’s Angels! Your direction and honesty has helped to create CONVICTED! I couldn’t, and wouldn’t want to, do it without you! Thank you, Sherry, Val, Angie, Kelli, Heather, and our newest angel Kirsten! Believe me—from time to time—it takes angels to put up with me!

A special thank you to Ilona, a wonderful reader who won a contest and was allowed to name one of the characters in CONVICTED—thank you Ilona—I hope you enjoy your character!

To my agent, Danielle Egan-Miller and my editor, Lucy D’Andrea, thank you! I continue to learn from your wisdom every day!

I absolutely love creating and continuing this saga, but it has been the outpouring of encouragement and support that I’ve received from the best readers in the world that made this a wonderful journey. I can’t thank you all enough for the continued love which you have shown to me! Whether it is in person—at an author event or online—I hope you know how much your kind words have meant! Thank you!!

I also, hope that you’ll understand how difficult it was for me to end this series. Tony and Claire as well as many of the other characters have become my real life friends and foes...saying goodbye is never easy...but knowing that I’m not doing it alone has given me courage...I hope it will help you too!

Be brave...and learn how with the TRUTH there are CONSEQUENCES...CONVICTED!

This is the third book in the CONSEQUENCES Series. It’s recommended to read them in order. The CONSEQUENCES series contains adult dark content. Although excessive use of description and detail are not used, the content contains innuendos of kidnapping, rape, and abuse—physical and mental. If you’re unable to read this material—please do not purchase. If can enter this world of fiction—welcome aboard and enjoy the ride!

The evil you create will ultimately destroy you, you cannot escape the consequences of your actions.

—Leon Brown

The woman stood silently, concealed within the shadows of the tall trees. With the Iowa wind rustling leaves above her head, she watched in fascination as children ran around the well-kept playground. Although many youngsters vied for position on the ladders and ramps, her attention centered on the beautiful, dark-haired little girl and blonde headed little boy playing in the sandbox. She’d seen the children on numerous occasions—always from a distance. She knew the little girl was almost two and a half years old and the little boy was almost two years old. Steeling her shoulders, she decided today was the day she’d finally voice her appeal—face the barrier to her goal—and make her request known.

The children wouldn’t know who she was or why she was there. There was no doubt, the woman with the eagle eyes of a mother and aunt—the woman watching the children’s every move, wouldn’t only know her—she wouldn’t hesitate to send her away or call the authorities.

Inhaling deeply, New York Times bestselling author, Meredith Banks, stepped from the shadows into the sunlight. As the proximity of her goal increased, so did her anxiety. This wouldn’t be easy. Emily Vandersol had made it crystal clear that she didn’t want the children exposed to the media circus. That circus had already exposed too many family secrets—secrets which, for their sake, would’ve been better left hidden.

As Meredith neared the park bench, Emily’s ever present scan of the crowd zeroed in on her, and their eyes met. Before Emily could protest, Meredith rushed to the park bench and touched Emily’s sleeve. “Emily, please let me speak. Please...let me finish their story.”

Momentarily looking away from the children, Emily stared toward Meredith, her green eyes burned with emotion. Her back straightened as her hushed words overflowed with intended harshness. “You’re not allowed to be this close to me or to her. I have a restraining order against all members of the press.”

“I know, but I’m not just the press—I’m Claire’s friend—I was”—Meredith added thoughtfully—“Please—I want the world to know the rest of their story.”

Emily leaned closer as her perturbed tone hardened. “Don’t you think you’ve told enough? One day, I’m going to have to explain your book to her. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage? Or maybe it’s just the money you want. I’m sure revealing more private information will sell more books.”

Meredith didn’t like Emily’s tone. Although she knew she deserved it; she wouldn’t let it stop her quest. After all, engaging Claire’s sister in any conversation was more than she’d accomplished in the past. “I hope you know this isn’t about selling books. Claire approached me with her story. We had an agreement, and I followed through. I’m not denying that her story’s made me a fortune. What do you want me to say? I’ll donate all proceeds from the rest of their story to Nichol? I’d gladly do that, but we both know she isn’t lacking for money.”

Emily looked up as the dark-haired little girl came running toward them. Undaunted by the visitor, Nichol spoke loud and clear, “Momma”—shaking her little head, she corrected—“I mean, Aunt Em, Mikey’s not sharing. I want my...”

Meredith stared, mesmerized by the young girl’s features. Her long, dark hair was pulled into two pigtails which swung side to side as she ran. Her light complexion emphasized her pink sun-kissed cheeks, and her deep brown eyes shimmered in the sunlight. Meredith recognized the intensity of the young girl’s stare, the perfect combination of her parents; however, the determination and diction in the small voice unquestionably came from her father.

This was the closest Meredith had been to Anthony and Claire’s child. With all of her heart, Meredith wanted to pull the little girl into her arms and hug her tight—anything to help make Claire’s daughter’s world a better place.

While Emily rectified the situation between the children, Meredith pondered the events that brought them all here today—the events that changed Nichol’s life forever. Meredith remembered the Claire Nichols of the past—the carefree young woman who skipped class at Valparaiso to spend the day at Wrigley Field. She recalled the woman who recounted horrific details of a life she never wanted or deserved, and she recollected the last time they met—almost three years ago.

Claire had arranged their meeting. She wanted to discuss Meredith’s first book My Life As It Didn’t Appear. Claire desired to stop the publication.

Momentarily, Meredith recalled Claire’s countenance—finally happy and obviously in love. While they ate lunch in Chicago, Claire opened up, talking about her change of heart, and confessing her pregnancy. It was a step of faith on Claire’s part. Her pregnancy hadn’t been publicly announced, yet during that luncheon, Claire entrusted her long-time friend with her special news. Undoubtedly, it could’ve been a great coup, but Meredith wouldn’t leak the news. She’d done that to her friend once before, and the repercussions of that deception would haunt Meredith forever.

Unfortunately, the book was beyond Meredith’s influence; it was in the hands of a publisher with specific instructions. Claire offered any amount of money to hide the story—forever. She worried that someday her child would learn the truth behind her parents’ meeting, and Claire didn’t want that to happen.

Meredith promised Claire she’d try—and she did.

Then, less than a month later, Claire disappeared—the disclosure clause of their contract went into motion. Publication was imminent. Meredith’s efforts, along with a multitude of Rawlings’ attorneys, were unable to keep the book from being published. Upon publication, My Life As it Didn’t Appear entered the bestseller list and has broken records ever since.

Meredith hoped that by continuing their story—telling the world the rest of their saga, maybe—just maybe—someday Nichol would understand.

Emily’s voice brought Meredith back to present. “The answer is no, and if you release any information about Nichol, I’ll have you fined, and with my husband’s help—arrested.”

“I’m not here to expose Nichol,” Meredith continued. “I’m here because I want to talk to Claire. The people at the Everwood facility said all visitors must be approved by you; therefore, I’m asking for your permission.”

Emily sat taller. “Ms. Banks, I’m not sure what part of this conversation you’re not hearing or comprehending, but the answer is no.” Before Meredith could respond, Emily continued, “Besides, it wouldn’t do you any good. Claire can’t tell you her story—she can’t answer your questions.”

“Then let me just talk with her.”

“Don’t you understand? She can’t talk to anyone.”

“The staff didn’t say visitors were restricted due to her condition. They said they’re restricted due to your insistence.”

“Ms. Banks—so help me God—if I read about this in a news release, I’ll come after you myself. Do you understand?”

Meredith nodded and replied, “I want to help Claire—I truly do. I want to expose the truth so the world will know what happened.”

Emily continued, “I’m only telling you this because my sister considered you a friend. Some of the doctors call it a psychotic break brought on by physical and mental stress. Others have said it’s the result of multiple head injuries.” Shaking her head, she added, “Claire hasn’t spoken to anyone in over two years!”

Meredith’s mind swirled. She’d read about the insanity plea. She knew the history and read about the incident. Truly, if anyone had reason to be insane, it was Claire, yet Meredith hadn’t considered the severity of the situation. “What do you mean?” She lowered her voice. “Claire can’t talk?”

“No—not exactly, she speaks. Sometimes she carries on conversations—just not with anyone present. She doesn’t know where she is or even that she has a child. Sometimes she’s a child—other times she’s with him. Honestly, out of context, it’s difficult to tell what she’s thinking at any given time.”

“So, when Nichol just called you Momm—”

Emily interrupted, “Nichol knows I’m her aunt, but sometimes, with Michael calling me Mom—she forgets.”

“Maybe I could help? I could talk with Claire and help bring her back?”

A tear slid down Emily’s cheek as she watched the children’s interaction. “If I thought there was a chance, I’d allow you access immediately, but honestly, if those of us who do visit can’t reach her—if Nichol couldn’t reach her”—Emily sat taller as her tone hardened—“No. Please don’t come around or ask again.”

“Emily, what about Mr. Rawlings?”

Emily abruptly turned toward Meredith, her tone now a resonating growl of a mother bear. “He’s gone, and I will not allow anyone to mention his name around Claire or Nichol. His reign of terror over my family is done!”

“But one day—”

Emily abruptly stood, dismissing Meredith. “Goodbye, Ms. Banks. I’m taking my children home. If I ever see your face again or read any of this conversation—anywhere—I won’t only press charges, but I’ll make it my goal to see you behind bars. Good day.”

Meredith nodded in understanding, remained upon the bench, and watched as Emily lifted Michael into her arms and reached for Nichol’s hand. Without turning around or acknowledging their conversation, Emily held tightly to the children and walked away.

It was obvious Emily loved and cared for both children; nevertheless, Meredith questioned the fairness of Nichol’s situation. If things stayed status quo, Meredith feared Nichol would never know the truth about both of her parents.

The sounds of the busy park were lost to the gentle whisper of the breeze as Meredith contemplated her own children; she couldn’t imagine her life without them. She wondered about Claire, unable to imagine the emptiness and sense of loss her sorority sister must be enduring. Everything and everyone she’d ever held dear was gone. Before Meredith realized, the park blurred and tears coated her cheeks.

She’d read the news reports and knew in her heart that there was a story in need of telling. Truly, she didn’t care about the money or the fame. Her memory went to a pledge—one made a lifetime ago. She and Claire pledged sisterhood. It wasn’t a blood bond like the one Claire shared with Emily—it was more—it was a commitment. Meredith refused to allow her sister to be lost forever—somehow she’d learn the truth.

She remembered the day—years ago—when she met Claire in San Diego. During their discussion, Meredith told her friend about a desire to tell the world the truth no matter the consequences. Perhaps Emily would choose to prosecute; however, as Meredith watched the small family disappear over the hill toward the parking lot, her mind was set. If Claire’s mental health and Nichol’s solace resulted in arrest—so be it. She’d rather be convicted for being a true sister than live her life free and allow that beautiful little girl to live uninformed.

The private mental health facility, Everwood, was as beautiful as the website boasted. It was an upscale residential mental treatment center exclusively for women located in the countryside near Cedar Rapids. On forty-eight beautiful acres it had walking paths and nature trails—perfect for Claire.

Meredith knew Claire’s initial institutionalization was the result of a legal plea. At the time of the plea, Claire had been placed in a state operated facility. That placement was short-lived, and she was moved to this esteemed private facility with top-notched security, confidential care, and a respected staff.

As next of kin and power of attorney, Emily Vandersol had complete jurisdiction over Claire’s treatment. Without Emily’s permission, Meredith couldn’t approach Claire in the facility’s guest accessible areas, much less Claire’s private room; therefore, in order to access her sorority sister, Meredith had to devise a plan. She’d always dreamt of being an investigative journalist—now was her time.

The money she’d made from the sales of her book afforded her children the best education. Currently, that was at a respected boarding school on the East Coast. Although she hated having them so far away, that distance permitted Meredith the time and freedom she needed to learn Claire’s story.

Her plan wasn’t complicated—if she couldn’t visit Claire as a guest—Meredith decided she’d frequent the facility as an employee. She didn’t have the credentials to impersonate a therapist or doctor, but fortunately, the center was in need of kitchen staff.

A small investment to a questionable source provided Meredith with a falsified identification complete with a verifiable past work history. She wasn’t sure she could remember to answer to a different name; therefore, Meredith chose to use her husband’s last name—one she rarely used. An interview and sob-story later, Meredith Russel was hired by Everwood Behavioral Center. As Meredith looked in the mirror, smoothing the white cafeteria uniform, she smirked—a bit sarcastically and thought, my life’s ambition is now complete—I have a minimum wage position.

The first few days of her new job were merely research. She needed to learn the lay of the land and the ins and outs of Everwood. Almost immediately, she learned Claire was listed as Nichols. Claire didn’t participate in group activities, group counseling sessions, or eat in the common dining room. Meals were taken to her room, and the note on the computer indicated that on occasion, feeding assistance was required.

Apparently, Ms. Nichols sometimes went outdoors accompanied by her therapist, facility staff, or limited visitors. The first time Meredith saw Claire, her long ago sorority sister was returning from such a walk...

Claire knew she loved the outdoors. She always had—the wind in her face—the smell of fresh cut grass or newly fallen leaves—kindled warm feelings. She knew it somehow connected to her past—she didn’t know how—or remember a name or a face—but something about nature brought a feeling of security. When she was led outside, she’d close her eyes, wanting to see the world as a new place. Often times, flashes of a man in uniform came and went. Claire assumed these feelings and sense of safety also came from her past. Assumptions were much easier than questions.

She didn’t question—anything. Claire understood her only access to the fresh breeze or the sun on her skin was when she was accompanied by another person. She didn’t always know the person beside her, but she did know accessing the refreshing outside without someone else was against the rules. She knew all about rules and how to follow them. Oh, it was true that, in the past, she’d made mistakes—used poor judgment—or made poor decisions—decisions that resulted in unfavorable consequences. That’s what Tony taught her—behaviors had consequences.

Claire preferred positive consequences. Yes, more than once she’d disappointed him. With each passing day, she vowed to not let him down—again. After what she’d done—she wasn’t sure it mattered; nonetheless, since it was all she had left—she wouldn’t let go—she wouldn’t disappoint.

During her days, people with different faces and different voices came and went. Their words weren’t real, and sometimes the food they delivered wasn’t either. Oh, it looked real. She could even smell the aroma as they entered her room, but if it were real, she’d be hungry. Most of the time, she wasn’t.

There were people who helped her shower, dress, and fix her hair. At first, she fought their assistance and intrusion; then with time, she chose to accept their help. In a way, it was comforting. She’d been taught the importance of maintaining appearances, and since day-to-day activities were too overwhelming, the assistance of these faceless hands helped her fulfill her responsibility.

Under no circumstance did she want to disappoint Tony. Sometimes the tears overwhelmed her. After all, she had to live with the reality—she surely disappointed him. Why else would he not make his presence known to everyone? Occasionally, people would tell her he was gone. Claire knew better.

She knew he was there. Even if the faceless people couldn’t see or hear him—he was there. When he came to her she could truly sleep and dream. She lived for his touch—it took away the suffocating ache that filled her otherwise empty life. Yes, there had been times when they were together that there was pain; however, it was nothing like the pain of not knowing when he’d return; therefore, when they were together, she’d compartmentalize that pain away. While he was there, she’d refuse to show her misery. It would remain her private agony—after what she’d done—she deserved it.

Claire remembered every word—every syllable he’d ever said. He told her the offer of a psychiatric facility was to protect her. Now, whether she deserved to be or not—she was protected.

Sometimes people asked her questions. With each inquiry, she’d hear his voice, “Divulging private information is still forbidden...”

She no longer questioned what constituted private information. Whether it was her memories, their history, or what she wanted to eat, she wouldn’t divulge. In an effort to refrain from revealing anything she shouldn’t, Claire chose to not speak. With time, that decision became easier and easier—the faceless people’s words rarely penetrated her bubble.

Then without warning, the people before her would morph into other faces, and she’d forget her vow of silence and speak. After all, it was so exciting to see long-lost friends and faces, yet as fast as they’d appear—they’d fade away. Most of the time, it didn’t matter—whether real or imagined—the people with her rarely understood her conversation. Whenever this occurred, she’d remember her disobedience. The overwhelming sense of shame instigated an internal turmoil that according to the voices threatened her well-being.

That internal turmoil would manifest in ways Claire couldn’t control. She wanted to stop—to behave—but sometimes she couldn’t make her body do what she wanted it to do, and then the faceless people would restrain her. So many images would race through her mind—she hated restraints. The faceless voices would tell her the restraints were for her own protection—so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Claire would still fight—after all, she’d never hurt anyone—but wait—she had.

Her history of violence had been well documented, and since she had the capability, it was better to be safe. Then when things seemed lost—when she least expected it—relief would come.

Claire would hear his voice.

She couldn’t predict when it would come; she couldn’t encourage it, or even beg for it. No, Tony appeared on his own schedule and of his own volition. His voice would come in—a word, a whisper, or a long rambling speech. The deep baritone melody could soothe her like no drug.

When Claire first arrived at Everwood, the faces and hands that took her outside encouraged her to garden. They’d put tools in her hands, but she wouldn’t grip—she couldn’t. It was too painful. It reminded Claire of the gardens on the estate or those in paradise. In time, the faces gave up. That was Claire’s assumption—she didn’t ask. No matter the why, they no longer asked her to comply.

On the occasions, when she tried to remember her life—she couldn’t. It all blended into the same grayness—the place where dark became light and light became dark—the place between places. There was before—earlier—long ago—once upon a time—when life had color, and there was then—the time when all life disappeared—when the grayness won—the time after the dark.

Her efforts to contain the grayness were useless, and with time, she no longer tried. It seeped from every compartment, leaked into her thoughts, and filled every void. Her world—her reality—was gray—colorless.

Then, unexpectedly, like his voice and without reason, hues of color would infiltrate her world. It was the color of unsolicited memories. She was powerless to stop them. Usually, they’d begin well enough with greens of spring and the blues of waves upon a lake. Without warning, an overwhelming pain—a demobilizing sense of loss would stop her. Worse than the gray, this was nothing—not white—not black—NOTHING!

This void wasn’t only brought on by the loss of Tony. Oh, Claire knew his ways; he’d return long enough to rekindle the passion, ignite her need, and disappear again. This nothingness was something else—an emptiness she couldn’t identify—one that even the gray couldn’t penetrate—one that clawed at her heart. If she allowed her thoughts to linger in the nothingness for too long, it tore her soul to shreds, and she felt every slash—fleeting memories of a baby and a fire. It was the most agonizing pain she’d ever experienced, and without a doubt, Claire was a veteran of pain. She’d endured loss, undergone tragedy, and withstood physical suffering—hell, she’d braved death itself.

Without warning, this emptiness would approach—rattle her soul—and bring her to her knees. When it did, her body would collapse. She’d hear a primal plea escape her lips—not a cry—not simple tears on her pillow. She’d hear a wail of torment that no one but she could understand. When this happened—the people would come. They’d speak words she couldn’t comprehend and a new pain would come to her arm.

Sometimes she’d scream just to feel the bliss of the sharp prick. The faces and voices didn’t understand...she couldn’t ask—that would constitute as divulging information; nonetheless, the sharp sensation led to sleep—a reprieve from the conscious grayness and suffocating nothingness. Life was no longer real. Perhaps it never had been and it never would be...

Sometimes Claire remembered black voids. Those thoughts didn’t frighten her; on the contrary, the black overpowered the gray—consumed the nothingness and filled her with the promise of intense emotion. Nothing about Tony had ever been gray. There were always colors...blues, greens, reds, and browns. So much could be assessed by the shade of brown. The memory of that brown becoming black made her heart beat faster, pulse rage uncontrollably, and body hunger for the passion only he could provide.

At times, Claire fantasized about Tony’s eyes—starring endlessly at anything, remembering his ability to communicate with a simple glance. The sight of something dark brown or black electrified every nerve within her body, but when she saw chocolate brown, it sent her entire being into spasms.

Claire stopped caring, months or years ago. Time was no longer relevant. She had a new goal. It was to wait until he returned, held her, caressed her, and loved her. Until his gaze filled her being, until he consumed the nothingness and made the grayness go away—until he brought the color back to her bleak world.

Claire had been walking outside with a faceless voice. The voice had been talking, and she’d been walking. The air was warm and the sky was clear. Claire assumed it was blue, although she only saw gray—the way things appeared on black and white television. The woman beside her seemed familiar—yet not—as she spoke on and on.

Claire didn’t try to listen; instead, she concentrated on walking with the talking woman. This obedience earned her temporary exodus from her desolate room. It was a compromise she could sometimes stand. As they entered the building and walked through the cafeteria, Claire peered beyond her bubble, long enough to see someone familiar. The realization sent her back—immobilized her—memories sped by—colors flooded her gray. She couldn’t compartmentalize fast enough.

Before Claire knew what happened, she was on the floor. Shoes and voices were all she saw and heard...

Meredith couldn’t react fast enough. She knew the woman across the room was Claire. Despite her dull, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and her too pale complexion, Meredith recognized her sorority sister. It was her eyes. Yes, they lacked the luster of their youth, but Meredith had no doubt—the too thin woman with emerald eyes was definitely Claire.

Meredith wanted to call out, but if she did, she’d blow her cover. Briefly, their eyes met, bringing a momentary spark of recognition. Before Meredith could move, comment, or anything—Claire fell to the floor as if she’d been struck. Suddenly, she was lying in a fetal position, shaking her head, and mumbling incoherently.

The woman who’d been walking with her calmly knelt beside Claire and made a call. Within seconds, they were surrounded by other members of the facility’s staff. Meredith moved forward in seemingly slow motion as they scooped Claire onto a gurney and slid an IV into her arm.

Meredith’s ragged breath pulled at her chest as the needle entered Claire’s skin. She quietly eased herself closer to the woman she once knew. By the time she was beside the gurney, Claire’s emerald eyes held little sign of recognition. Under the guise of the commotion, Meredith gently touched Claire’s forearm and moved her lips near Claire’s ear. “Claire, it’s me, Meredith. Please help me tell your story.”

The trembling woman before her slipped away. Her last gaze toward Meredith was one of relief as the peaceful calm of medication overtook her body. Helplessly, Meredith watched the gurney being wheeled away.

The pain in her arm was back, but so was the calm. Before the dreams began, Claire tried to process the identity of that woman. She felt an undeniable belief that she should know her, but it wasn’t right. The woman didn’t belong here, not in her safe haven. Claire’s thoughts were scattered...her story. No, the story wasn’t just hers.

The story belonged to so many others, so many others, who like her, would never be able to tell the world what happened; so many others, who were now silenced—now and forever, yet Claire knew every word—she’d lived it.

Tell her story? No...some things were better left unknown!