Chapter 43

Chapter 43
I woke before the light again, but this time, it wasn’t because of fear. It wasn’t the echo of footsteps or the weight of an envelope pressed into memory. It was something steadier—something like readiness. The room was still, and Jackson was warm beside me, one arm draped across my waist like a promise made without words. I moved slowly, careful not to wake him, and padded barefoot through the quiet house.
The windows were dark, but I didn’t flinch when I looked through them.
Instead, I checked each door. Each latch. Each lock. My hands knew what they were doing now, each motion deliberate, not frantic. I stood at the front window, watching the trees shift in the early breeze, and let the silence settle over me like armor I’d forged myself. The notebook on the kitchen table waited for me like an old friend. I flipped it open and wrote down three lines:

Reinforce the back windows.
Rotate security codes weekly.
Remember who I am.

The last one came out without thinking. I circled it once, then underlined it twice.
I was halfway through my first cup of coffee when Jackson stepped into the room, his hair still mussed, bare feet quiet on the floor. He looked at me for a long moment, like he was cataloging everything: my posture, my breathing, the absence of tension in my hands.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“I think I’m more than okay,” I said. “I think I’m ready.”
He smiled then, the kind that didn’t ask anything of me, just received what I gave and offered something solid in return.

Dom arrived an hour later, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a case of tech gear balanced on his hip. He looked like someone preparing to install a command center rather than a security system. I held the door open, and instead of standing aside, I said, “Put me to work.”
He raised a brow. “You sure?”
“If I’m going to live here,” I said, “I need to know how every part of this works.”
He nodded once. “Then let’s start with the entry sensors.”
For the next two hours, I followed Dom from room to room, helping install window locks, calibrating the motion lights, and adjusting the angles on the back-facing cameras. He explained everything with professional calm, but every so often, he’d glance over like he was still gauging how close I was to shattering.
I didn’t.
Not even once.
By the time we finished the last external panel and re-synced the cloud backup, Dom stepped back and gave a low whistle.
“You picked this up fast.”
“Fear is a great teacher,” I said, then added, “but survival is better.”
He looked at me like he wanted to say something more, something protective or paternal, but instead he said, “You know, I’ve trained people with less fire than you.”
“I’m not a fighter.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You are.”

Later, Jackson took me walking through the trees behind the property. As we walked, I asked questions I wouldn’t have thought to ask weeks ago, about blind spots near the shed, about how sound traveled between the trees. Dom answered everything without condescension, like he saw me not as a victim but as a partner. Jackson stayed close behind, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the treetops as if he could pull Daniel down from them by sheer will. But when I glanced back, it wasn’t fear I saw in his face. It was awe. Like he couldn’t believe how far I’d come, or maybe that I was never as fragile as any of them once thought. He reached for my hand, and I let him. We walked for a while without speaking.
Then, gently, he asked, “What are you most afraid of right now?”
I didn’t have to think long.
“That I’ll forget what it feels like to be safe,” I said. “That I’ll rebuild everything only to live inside a glass box of my own making.”
He nodded slowly. “And me?”
I stopped walking.
He looked at me, steady.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But I was afraid of what I might lose if I let you in.”
“And now?”
“Now I know you’re not the one I was hiding from.”
He pulled me in then, just enough to press his forehead against mine. There was no kiss. Just stillness. Just the truth shared without pressure.

Back at the house, I sat down and made a list. Not of fear.Not of what I’d lost.But what I was choosing.
I titled it: 

What Comes Next:
Attend class in person.
Speak at the advocacy event.
Update the police report monthly.
No apologies. No shrinking. No waiting.
Live like I’m staying because I am.

I read it twice. Then I read it to Jackson and Dom. I didn’t ask for permission. I didn’t wait for their input. I just said, “This is what I’m doing.”

They didn’t argue. Dom clapped a hand on my shoulder.

Jackson just kissed the side of my head and said, “We’re with you.”