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With a dismissive shake of his head, he looks back into the darkness, the gloomy mood taking over him again. “Of course, Alexa was naïve and believed her. She bolted out of the house, and I called the police to have Jennifer out of the house and arrested for SA. Of course, it took a shit ton of time and a trip to the hospital before I could get out to track my sister. For two torturous days, I couldn’t find her, I feared the worst…”

“Please tell me you found her well and safe?”

A deep and dark sound rises from his chest, a mix between a sob and a choke before he finally breaks down in front of me. Unrestrained and completely transparent, Arthur Adell is crying in front of me, bringing my own tears to the surface and making me fear the worst.

“I found her an hour away from this town in another hospital. In a coma after being raped and beaten.”

The pain that poor girl must have been in. After feeling betrayed by her brother, the only one she had left, to be attacked in such an inhuman way. The world can be so cruel.

“After two weeks of my crying and begging her to wake up, she finally did.” He sighs. “We had a heart to heart, and she seemed to believe me. It was like a heavy weight had finally been lifted off my chest.”

“How is she doing now?”

“She…she killed herself as soon as she got permission to go back home,” he chokes.

“What?” I almost screech, flabbergasted. “But you made up, and she knew you wouldn’t hurt her like that.”

“She left the hospital two hours earlier, before I could pick her up, and left a letter on her bed. By the time I ran out to search for her, it was too late. She said she was glad she had me, but that she wasn’t sure she could bear more pain in this horrible world.”

“I am so sorry. No one should go through that. Not her and certainly not you.”

“Unfortunately, you look like Jennifer, and I understood too late that you are nothing like her. I know the way I acted is unforgivable, but just know that I deeply regret it."

This poor man. I know it doesn’t justify his cruel ways, but I do understand the desperate need to keep people at arm’s length. If they’re not too close, they can’t hurt you.Right?

At the end of the day, we’ll do whatever we can to prevent our hearts from hurting.

“It’s water under the bridge.” I wave him off. “We keep learning from our mistakes. I sure have a ton to learn still. Look how messy my life is.” The chuckle is fake and meant to lift the heavy mood, but it’s not that effective. Especially since what he just shared with me is giving me a sudden wave of courage. The sudden confidence to tell him what I’ve never told anyone.

Seemingly aware of my thoughts, Arthur’s hand finds mine, giving it a comforting squeeze.

It’s the propulsor for my bravery.

“Seven years ago, I was raped.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Willow

AsIlookatmyself in the mirror, after getting dressed this morning, I barely recognize the person looking back at me from the other side of the glass.

I did it. I finally found the courage to tell someone everything that happened.

Just like I had done, Arthur listened to everything without interrupting me once—not even when I cried. Every fear that had been simmering inside of me about his ulterior motives vanished last night.

Not once did he try to touch me inappropriately or take advantage of my vulnerability, even after telling him something so personal that no one else knows, showing me that he was being truthful about a platonic and harmless friendship.

In the midst of all of this, and how Johanna proved to be incapable of respecting boundaries and not meddling with what doesn’t concern her, having Arthur being the exact opposite has made me feel less lonely. Like I truly have a friend.

And even after barely sleeping, I feel lighter this morning with renewed energy and slightly more confidence that I can solve this.

Last night also made me realise that I need therapy. In the end, I needed the bomb to blow up in my face to understand that sweeping my problems under the rug won’t make them disappear. Not to mention the fact that it is completely unfair to everyone, especially DylanandLiam.

Climbing down the stairs turns out to be a funny experience due to the extreme bickering coming from inside the kitchen.

“Good morning,” I muse to the sight of Jake and Dylan completely covered in a white powder—probably flour.

“Ahhh!” they both screech in a high-pitched tone, immediately placing my almost-thirty-year-old brother in the same emotional intelligence bracket as my six-year-old son.

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