Lead Me Home (Fight for Me #3)(49)

I strengthened my voice and began to recite, “I am strong. I have control of my life. I have control of my body. I have the right.”

Some of the women chanted it loudly, claiming it, while others merely mumbled it under their breaths.

That was okay.

The only thing that mattered was that each of them would hear it again and again until they believed it.

“Okay . . . tonight I would like us to talk about some of the emotions you experienced when you decided it was time to make a change. No doubt, standing up for what we deserve when we might be in a bad situation is met with a gamut of emotions. Fear and joy and conviction and doubt, just to name a few. Let’s look at those and how they impacted your decisions to make a change. Who would like to start?”

Lynetta raised her hand. She was good about sharing first. Getting the words flowing, instilling trust and comfort in the rest of the women who might be nervous and on edge. Exuding her own kind of peace in the way she shared the memories of her abuse as a child.

She wasn’t ashamed to admit she still dealt with the scars every day. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t overcome it and found joy in her life.

“I remember the very moment I’d had enough, and I couldn’t take any—”

She stopped speaking when timid footsteps echoed from the stairwell as someone made their way down.

It was very typical for a new member.

Many times, they came in late as if they weren’t sure they should be there at all, needing to convince themselves to take that step.

I put a welcoming smile on my face and shifted to look over my shoulder toward the stairwell.

My heart froze in my chest when my eyes landed on the figure standing on the last step.

Ice slicked down my spine.

Horror.

Dread.

Worry.

They twined through me like the roots of a tree breaking through the foundation of a home.

Destructive.

Unseen until the damage was already done.

That was what it felt like, sitting there staring at my little sister and having no idea why she could be there.

Her face was so much like mine.

It felt as if I was looking into a mirror.

Only her eyes widened in shame and disgrace and mine widened with questions.

Why are you here?

What happened?

Why didn’t you tell me?

I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.

My lips parted on a soft cry while dread pumped through me with so much force I could feel the thunder of it in my ears. The hardest part was the impact I felt in my spirit.

As if a hammer had cracked me wide open, and everything I’d held true spilled out.

Knees shaking, I climbed to my feet. Metal screeched as the chair slid when I reached out to hold on to the back for support.

I slowly turned all the way around to face my little sister.

That was all it took for her to spin around and bolt.

Footsteps echoed on the concrete as she pounded upstairs. The sound of her escape was what finally shot me into action.

“Nikki.” Kathy hissed the warning, trying to stop whatever line she thought I was crossing.

I ignored her and shoved the chair out of my way. It toppled over. The reverberation of it hitting the ground echoed against the walls.

The sound only seemed to gather strength.

Distraught, I stumbled around it.

Everything felt as if it had been set to slow motion, my own steps slackened as I tried to process what was happening.

Because this felt like a nightmare. Like I’d wake up and realize it’d only been brought on by worry. By the reminder that the anniversary of Sydney’s disappearance was approaching so fast.

Too fast.

It always made everything raw and new.

But my eyes were wide open.

Too wide.

My spirit screamed that I’d been blind all along.

“Sammie,” I cried, chasing her up the stairs. I gathered the hem of my dress with one hand and clung to the railing with the other so I could make it up faster. “Sammie. Sammie, please. Wait.”

Tears stung my eyes. A knot grew in my throat, so big that I choked over it.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Sammie!” I shouted, her name strangled as it ripped free.

She was already shoving open the glass doors by the time I made it to the first level.

I raced after her and caught the door just before it closed, clamoring after her.

Her brown ponytail swished madly at her back as she rushed for her car that was parked on the street.

“Sammie,” I begged, scrambling that way, pleading with her to stop.

To look at me.

To tell me what was happening.

My fingers brushed down her back. She flew around as if she was terrified of me.

Tears soaked her face, but it didn’t do anything to conceal the grief.

“No,” she rasped. She put out her hand to stop me from coming any closer. “No. This . . . this was supposed to be confidential. Private.”

Angrily, she swatted at her tears. “Why are you here? You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Guilt blazed a path through me.

Clearly, she felt trapped.

Ambushed.

More tears streaked free, and she choked around the words, “It was supposed to be confidential. You . . . you aren’t finished with school yet. Why are you here?”