Chapter 196

The ad was vague, but threw enough shade at me for some of it to certainly stick. What a low blow, coming after me, using me and my past against Miles.

As the ad ends and the regular news coverage returns, Miles mutes the television, throws the remote onto the couch, and storms toward his desk. “I’m calling our attorneys.”

“Miles.”

“They can’t get away with spreading lies about you, Esther. This is slander, through and through.”

“Miles,” I say again, more forcefully.

What was said in the ad wasn’t anything specific. A slander case would never go through. Especially if not everything that was said was false.

Miles picks up the phone.

Stepping forward, I place my hand on his arm, stopping him. “Don’t,” I say.

He listens, slowly lowering the landline phone back down to the receiver. Then he turns to look at me in clear confusion. “I don’t understand. You don’t want to fight this?”

“It’s not that I don’t,” I tell him. It certainly doesn’t feel great to have so many terrible things said about me. The implication that I could be holding Miles back hurts more than I care to admit. “It’s that if we try to fight this, things will come out about my past.”

“I can protect you, Esther. No one will judge you because of what Edward did to you.”

It’s kind of him to say, but we both know that’s not the truth. People blame victims all the time.

But that’s not even what I’m talking about right now.

“You don’t know everything about me, Miles. About my past. About the things I did…”

“None of that matters,” Miles says, so righteous and brave, so gallantly wanting to defend me.

I hope I’m not about to shatter his faith in me, with what I’m about to say.

“Why don’t we sit down,” I say, gesturing to the couch.

His brow furrows even further in confusion, but still he says, “If that’s what you want…”

Together, we move toward the couch and sit down. We are side by side but with enough space between us so that we can face each other. He taps his knee against mine a few times, but I can’t tell if it’s out of his own nervousness or as an attempt of a gesture of comfort to me.

“This is difficult to talk about,” I say.

“You can tell me anything. You know that.”

I do. So I take a breath, and I tell him, “I’ve done things in my past that I’m not proud of.”

“You didn’t have a choice –” Miles begins, so eager to defend me, even from myself.

I hold up my hand, stopping him. “I did in a few ways. I didn’t have to steal from the corner store. Or from the jewelry store…”

He deflates a little, his eyes widening. He doesn’t say a word, just listens, waiting for me to continue.

“The corner store I can explain. We weren’t given enough to eat at the orphanage. Nothing more than bread and a tough stew, and some water. The corner store had a deli inside. They made fresh sandwiches – the really tall kind, with stacks upon stacks of lunch meat, cheese, and vegetables.”

“You were hungry,” Miles says softly.

I nod. “As I said, that one I can explain. It doesn’t make it right, what I did, but at least, I had a good reason.” I pause for a breath, collecting myself. “Stealing from the jewelry store doesn’t have as good an explanation.”

The only times the other girls and I were allowed to leave the orphanage was to go to school. It should have been a safe place for us, and it was an escape, in a way. At least there, we didn’t suffer any abuse, other than the bullying from the other children – the ones with parents.

We’d learned not to trust the teachers though.

“You can tell us anything,” they would say, but the moment one of the girls tried to tell her teacher what was happening back at the orphanage, the girl was given detention for lying. Edward was called, to be made aware of the situation. Back at the orphanage, that girl wasn’t allowed to leave her room again for a month.

School was no safe place, but the walk back and forth from school and the orphanage was when I felt the most freedom. Walking down the sidewalks in front of the local shops, I felt like I could be anyone. Not an orphan, but a businesswoman, or a model, or even a wealthy housewife. No dream was too big or small for my imagination.

Daphne and I would look through the shop windows, and talk about what we would buy, if we had the money. Our favorite was the window of the jewelry store.

“That gold is so gaudy,” Daphne said once, pointing at a necklace made of woven thick chains. “Even if I had money, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that.”

“I like this one,” I said, pointing to a silver broach. I remember it well, even to this day. It was a little sparrow with a diamond for an eye.

“You pin that thing to your ratted coat and someone will mug you for sure,” Daphne said.

“If I had money, I could wear it,” I snapped back.

Daphne fell silent, maybe realizing I was serious in my liking it.

At that point, I never really owned anything. We had clothes at the orphanage but they were second-hand donations. The moment we grew out of them, they were passed on again, down to the next child. The only thing that was truly my own was my toothbrush, but that didn’t make me feel like royalty.

“It had been a hard night for me at the orphanage,” I tell Miles now. “Maybe I just wanted someone to notice the bruises on my arms. Or maybe I was hoping I could use the money from selling the broach to save Daphne and me. Or maybe I just wanted something selfish for myself. I genuinely don’t remember anymore.”

“You were caught,” Miles says, voice soft.

“I didn’t even make it out of the store,” I say. “The salesclerk clocked me as soon as I walked through the door.”

“Did they see the bruises?”

I feel numb now, remembering. “They didn’t care. They sent me back to Edward. They told him everything.”

Miles frowns. “Did he… punish you?”

“I don’t remember the punishment,” I say. “I just remember the way he laughed.”

A knock sounds on the door, interrupting us.

“I’ll send them away,” Miles says, standing.

Without his warmth beside me, I wrap my arms around myself, chilled from the cold memories.

When Miles opens the door, Crystal stands there.

“Forgive the intrusion,” she says. “But a letter came for Esther from the Zimmer team.”

“I’ll take it,” Miles says. After Crystal hands him the letter, he thanks her and closes the door. Turning to me, he holds the letter in his hands. It’s in a plain white envelope. So simple. So innocuous.

God only knows what horrors lie within it.

“We can throw it away,” Miles suggests.

I shake my head. “He can’t hurt me anymore. I’m a grown woman. I can face his threats head-on.”

Nodding, Miles walks back to me and sits closer to me than before. This time, our legs press together from hip to knee.

He hands me the envelope. With shaking hands, I open it. Inside is a folded up piece of paper. I open it.

My stomach drops down to the floor.

This is a copy of my juvenile detention center record – a record that is supposed to be sealed.

Right there, in plain black and white, it lists the reasons for my incarceration: theft and attempted arson.

Scrawled across the top is a note scrawled in Edward’s handwriting.

The media would love this. Stay quiet or else.