Chapter 15
Light came in flat across my father's apartment the next morning. Not the chandelier glow from Jonah's ballroom. Just thin November light through the blinds over the sink, catching dust on the counter.
I woke up on his couch with my father's old quilt over me. My bag was on the floor where I'd dropped it. I hadn't unpacked it. I hadn't needed to.
My dad was already up, at the small kitchen table with two mugs. He'd laid out a folder he'd brought home from his desk drawer. I sat up and my shoulders ached. The bruises were still there, yellow at the edges now, and I didn't cover them.
"You slept," he said.
I nodded. My throat was dry. "What time is it?"
"Seven thirty."
On top of the folder was a single sheet of paper. A lease agreement. I picked it up.
It was dated three weeks before the gala. Two-bedroom apartment on Maple, over the hardware store. Twelve-month term. My name typed on the tenant line. My signature underneath it. I'd signed it on a Tuesday during my lunch break while Jonah was at a foundation meeting. I'd paid the first month and the deposit from the checking account my mom had helped me open when I was nineteen, the one Jonah never asked about because he said I didn't need it.
I stared at it. I remembered the leasing manager saying, "You want both keys now?" and me saying yes.
I hadn't told Jonah. I hadn't told anyone except my dad, that night after I left the mansion.
I realized I'd been holding my breath.
"He said I was nothing without him," I said. My voice was rough. I didn't look at my dad when I said it.
"He was lying," my dad said.
I ran my thumb over my signature. It was steady. It was mine. The paper didn't need Jonah's permission. The apartment had been mine for weeks while I was still sleeping in his house and wearing the dress he'd chosen. The lie had only worked as long as I believed it.
My phone buzzed on the table. Sheriff Hartley. My dad hit speaker.
"Elise, it's Carla Hartley," she said. Her voice was even, awake. "Checking in like I said I would. You okay to talk?"
"Yes," I said.
"Good. Update for you. Jonah vacated the property last night after we served the no-contact order. He packed a bag and went to stay at the lake house. He's not to come within five hundred feet of you or your father's address for fourteen days, longer if the judge extends it. We confirmed he's out. Locks were changed this morning. Do you have your case card?"
I touched the card she'd given me at the dining table. It was still in my jeans pocket. "I have it."
"Good. Second thing. I heard from the foundation director this morning. They've paused his host role for the winter gala series pending review. They said they'll be in touch with you directly if you want support, no pressure. You don't have to decide anything today."
I looked at the lease again. "Okay."
"You did the right thing getting out," she said. "Call me if anything changes. Day or night."
After she hung up, my dad poured more coffee. His hand wasn't shaking anymore.
At ten, we walked to the community room at the library. It was not a courtroom. It was a small room with eight folding chairs, a table, and a window that looked out onto the parking lot. The victim advocate, a woman named Rosa, sat to the side with a notebook. She didn't run the meeting. She was just there.
My dad sat beside me but not in front of me. Rosa had asked me on the phone, "Do you want to speak first or do you want your dad to?" I'd said I wanted to speak first.
I had the lease folded in my bag. I had the case card. I had the photos Hartley had taken of the debris on that polished floor and the marks on my chest and wrists. I didn't need them all right then.
Rosa nodded to me when I was ready.
I spoke first. My voice didn't shake the way it had on that marble floor when Jonah gripped my arm.
"My name is Elise," I said. "I lived in that house on the hill for two years. Last night was the foundation gala. He told the guests it was his house, his rules. He hurt me and I left. I have my own place now. I don't live there anymore."
It was short. It was enough. For months I had waited for someone else to explain me. Jonah had spoken over me at every table, every party. "Who did this to you?" he'd performed, as if he didn't know. "You made a mistake." That morning in that small room, no one interrupted. My dad kept his hands on the table. Rosa wrote down what I said, word for word.
May you like
When I finished, my dad reached over and put his hand on my forearm, careful not to touch a bruise.
We walked out together into the parking lot. The air was cold. My bag was still packed, but I didn't need to carry it like armor anymore. I knew where I was going. My apartment key was in my pocket, separate from any key to Jonah's mansion. Behind me, that house was empty, its rules broken, its floor still holding the record of what had happened. Ahead of me was a door with my name on it. I turned the key myself.
