Today's Promises (Promises #2)(29)

He then assures me, “We’ll get through this the way we work best, the way we always do things—together.”

“You know what?” I touch the little scar below his eye.

“What?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, babe. And”—he catches my hand—“you got this.”

“Then I think I’ve made a decision,” I whisper.

“What have you decided?”

“I’m going to do it. I have no choice, not really. Not with the excavation going so poorly.” I blow out a breath. “I’m going to call Detective Silver and tell him my story. And then we’ll go on from there.”

He tightens his arms around me. “You’re doing the right thing,” he says. “Though I’ll always wish it was my statement they wanted instead of yours. I swear I’d take your place any day if I could.”

“I know, Flynn,” I tell him.

And I know he would too. So would Mandy. But their stories are not what the detective wants. My story has lifelong implications.

“I’ll be there with you the whole time,” he assures me again. “And if they need any corroboration, or whatever, to your story, I can help with that.”

I hold on to my lifeline—this boy who loves me beyond bounds, this boy who makes me recognize my own strength.

“Thank you, Flynn,” I whisper. “Thank you so much.”

I mean it for so much more than just today.





It takes until evening for me to build up enough courage to make the call to Detective Silver. And like Flynn promised, he is right there by my side.

In our room, with both of us perched on the edge of the bed, I hit “call.”

When the detective picks up, I’m in no mood for small talk. I get straight to the point. “This is Jaynie Cumberland. I’m ready to make that statement.”

After a pause, the detective replies, “Excellent. Can you hold on a minute?”

I don’t know why there’s a delay, but I say, “Uh, okay, sure.”

Flynn, seated next to me, pats my knee encouragingly.

When I glance over at him, he gives me a ‘you-got-this’ smile, and mouths, “You’re doing great.”

“It’s only been a minute,” I say back, laughing.

Ah, now I see what Flynn is doing—distracting me, putting me at ease.

It works, until I hear the detective shuffling around papers and realize he’s preparing to take notes. Damn, this is real now.

I mutter a cautious, “Here we go.”

“Okay,” Detective Silver says when he returns to the phone. “This is how it’s going to play out. I’d like for us to meet up as soon as it’s good for you—so I can take a formal statement—but until that time, me jotting down a few notes now will tell me how much evidence we have to make a case.”

“All right,” I murmur.

I remind myself that this is me taking control.

A few seconds later, Detective Silver, adopting a much more business-like tone, says, “As I understand it, you were physically hurt by Allison Lowry. Is this correct?”

“Yes.”

At my trying-to-be-strong tone, Flynn reaches over and takes my hand.

“We’ll go through the events leading up to the assault when we meet in person, but for now, I need to ask, were the injuries you sustained of a serious nature? In other words, was there significant harm done to you? Harm which required medical intervention?”

Was there significant harm done to me? And could I have benefited from some medical intervention? Yeah, that would’ve been nice. Maybe I wouldn’t be facing a life of infertility if I’d been able to see a doctor.

Swallowing the lump that’s threatening to close up my throat and shut me down, I croak out, “I miscarried because of Allison, Detective Silver. She kicked me in the abdomen, over and over again. She beat the hell out of me, really. So yes, I’d say there was significant harm done to me… And to my baby, who never even had a chance.”

The detective pauses. And then he says in the kindest of tones, “Miss Cumberland, I had no idea. I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

Flynn squeezes my hand.

“Well, this takes Ms. Lowry’s offense to a whole new level,” he then informs me. “May I ask which hospital you went to, Miss Cumberland? With the records they have on file, we’ll be able to throw the book at Alli—”

“Wait,” I interrupt, panic rising. “There are no records. I never went to a hospital that night. I couldn’t. For the love of God, I was running for my life!”

I start to sob, but even over my anguished cries, when the detective replies, I hear all too clearly that this admission, this f*cking pouring out of my heart, has all been for nothing.

“I’m sorry, Miss Cumberland,” he states. I hear his pen clink to whatever surface he’s been writing on. “Without hospital records documenting your injuries, there’s no way to prove Allison ever laid a hand on you.”

I can no longer hold back. I am racked with sobs. It’s like Allison still has the power to put me in my place. “She will always beat me,” I mumble, defeated.

I drop the phone.