“Stop talking about me like I’m a file,” he snapped.
But Camille didn’t even glance at him.
Her eyes stayed on me—like I was still someone she could erase.
After that, everything became quieter… and more dangerous.
We met on the back porch, careful, always watching. More than once, a black sedan lingered at the corner. Camille wasn’t even trying to hide it.
One afternoon, Gabriel brought an old photograph.
We were seventeen, arms wrapped around each other, matching infinity tattoos.
“I kept this,” he said. “It was the only thing they couldn’t take.”
“Did you ever try to leave?” I asked.
“Twice, the first year. They found me both times. After that… there was always someone assigned to me. Watching. Managing.”
“And you just accepted it?”
“I stopped fighting when they said you were married.”
Something inside me shifted.
“Then start fighting again,” I told him. “This time, you won’t be alone.”
Janet didn’t hesitate when I told her everything.
