“They never record what happens next,” I told the jury. “They don’t show the nightmares or the loss of trust. They call it content. I call it cruelty disguised as comedy.”
The courtroom fell silent.
Kyle was sitting in the gallery. He had also been called to testify, and when our eyes met, he was crying.
Outside, reporters were waiting on the courthouse steps, but Grant guided me through them without speaking for me.
Kyle said my name.
“Thank you for telling the truth.”
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Jessica and anyone else who might be attacked.”
“I know.”
He looked at Grant.
“It seems to suit you.”
“He doesn’t try to rescue me. He stays by my side while I rescue myself.”
Kyle dried his eyes.
“Do you hate me?”
Five years earlier, I would have responded immediately. But there, with the life I had built from scratch, hatred seemed like just another connection I no longer needed.
