Page 112 of The Love Syllabus

My friends laugh, completely unbothered. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Kiera says, waving me off. “So, tell us about your trip!”

I shake my head but smile as Vic and I settle onto the couch, recounting the highlights of our trip—his award show, sightseeing, the incredible food, learning more about his life. However, it isn’t long until the conversation shifts.

Gabe and Hawkins pull out their laptops while Izzy leans forward and begins in a serious tone, “We wanted to wait until you got here before we pressed publish the 911 calls because…well,” She hesitates, nervous to ask what I think she will. “We’ve never heard them, and we want your permission to listen to them with you, together.”

I blink as my pulse slows and my stomach twists. I never considered this moment, not like this. Not with all of them here, waiting, watching, and wanting to bear witness to the ugliest, most terrifying chapters of my life. The ones I barely survived.

My gaze sweeps the room, landing on my parents, on Serena and Kiera, on Hawkins, Vicky, Hudson, Izzy, and Gabe…on Vic, whose grip tightens around my hand, steady and sure.

I’ve lived with these memories alone for so long. Everyone had their suspicions, but no one truly knew the extent of what I endured because I had never spoken it aloud.

Until today.

I’m not the Kerry I used to be, so with a slow, shaky breath, I nod and whisper. “Okay, let’s listen.”

Hawkins clicks the button, and suddenly, my past comes back to life.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Please. Please, someone help me. He’s gonna kill me.”

In the background, Cory’s rage crackles through the speaker—furniture shatters and his voice is a thunderous, threatening growl.

“911, what’s your emergency?

“Please. Please send someone. He took my keys. He threatened to kill me and my family. He’s hurting me.”

More crashing. A loud yelp of pain—mine. It echoes through the speakers, but Ifeelit, ripping through my body like it’s happening all over again. Like I’m back there, trapped, breaking, bleeding.

Then the operator sighs. “Ma’am, as we’ve advised before, all calls regarding your residence are directed to the station.”

The station, where every single cry for help was funneled straight into the hands of my father-in-law.

We listen to one recording after the next until that final call. The one from the night I escaped.

“Help, please someone—”

This operator is different. She whispers,“Kerry… I’m sorry, but we’re required to direct all your calls to the station. But—are you okay? Everyone’s been looking for you. Everyone’s worried.”

My voice is barely audible. It’s weak and fading.“The wall. He trapped me in the wall. Call my dad. Please. Tell him I’m at my house. Tell him to come get me, please. I wanna go home. I wanna live.”

But the line cuts out and redirects to the man who let it all happen. The man who could’ve stopped it. The man who had a responsibility to stop it.

“Where’s my son, Kerry? You know better than to be callin’, startin’ trouble.”

A choked sob escapes me.

“My baby.”

I don’t realize I say it out loud until it’s already left my lips, but I remember exactly what I said on the recording.

The room stills. Vic tightens his arms around me, but I barely feel it because suddenly, I’m back there.

I see it all.

The shattered plaster clinging to my skin, the dust burning my throat as I sucked in ragged, desperate breaths. My fingernails were raw, caked with blood from clawing through drywall forthree days. The skin on my hands, torn open from trying to break free, from pounding against a prison made of my own home.

I was weak. Starving. My body, battered, bruised, and barely able to hold itself upright. My stomach was twisted in hunger, my lips cracked, my throat raw from screaming. I thought I was going to die.

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