Page 39 of Nocturne

Harley seems to relax, too. She sinks onto a play mat, her face softening into an ethereal smile as two kids weave around her in a game of tag.

She’s likely taller than me, but with her hunched posture, she looks smaller—like she’s trying to disappear. Her every movement is steeped in unease, her tension all too familiar.

It hurts to see it.

We carry this weight forever. Because of them. The monsters. Men who believe their entitlement grants them the right to destroy lives, to steal sanity.

And what do they lose? Nothing. They walk free of nightmares while we struggle to piece ourselves back together, never quite whole again.

I push the bitter thoughts aside. Anger never helped me heal.

Right now, all that matters is making Harley feel safe. To let her know she doesn’t have to guard herself with me—or Ellie.

I remember the first time I felt safe at college. It was when Ivy shared her story of losing her parents in an accident. Her vulnerability gave me permission to trust her, to let my guard down.

Maybe Harley needs that, too.

“I was kidnapped when I was seventeen,” I say quietly, watching her carefully. “Held in a basement for four months.”

Her head snaps toward me. Her eyes widen, startled.

“It took me years to get over the fear. To even stand in a crowd without panicking.” I pause, offering a small smile. “To be honest… I don’t think I’ve ever fully let it go.”

Her eyes soften, shimmering with unshed tears. Sympathy. Understanding.

“Initially, it felt impossible,” I continue. “Life didn’t seem fair or worth going on. But the kids here helped me a lot. They gave me a reason to keep going. And I hope others who need it, find that, too.”

Harley blinks rapidly, fighting to hold back her tears. Assuming they’re victims only undermines the fragile confidence they’ve worked so hard to rebuild.

Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

I don’t ask for her story—I don’t need to. She’ll share it if and when she feels comfortable. If not, that’s her choice.

I hope she understands that this is a safe space for her to feel comfortable in. She falls quiet, staring down at her fingers twisting in her lap.

I glance over at Cas. He’s sitting close. A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch him jot something down in his notebook, brow furrowed in concentration.

He picked up the habit from me.

On some days, when the kids were napping, I’d sit by the window with a book. Cas would always find me, climb into my lap, and read along. He watched me make notes in the margins, curious. The next day, he showed up with a notebook of his own, copying my every move.

My little angel. My perfect boy.

“I was rescued from a trafficking ring two years ago,”

I turn to see Harley looking at one of the kids. I try not to shiver at her words, but I don’t think I do a good job.

“I was given the okay from my rehab recently.”

“I’m glad that you made it out okay,” I say.

Harley looks at me, her eyes…dead. They are jarring to look at.

“For a long time, I wished I was dead. Those nightmares…I didn’t want to go on. I didn’t see a reason to do so,”

My eyes sting with unshed tears.

Harley tugs at her sleeves and shakes her head. As if she’s ridding herself of any horrible images.

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