I’m glad the girl’s two friends came with us. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known where to take the one who’s so out of it. Her friends beg me not to take her home, but her parents need to know what happened. They have to decide whether they want to take steps against that little asshole. And they need to talk to their daughter.

I’m absolutely against blaming the victim, but we all have to be more conscious, help each other, and stop looking away. When we all look away, horrible things happen. Things that can break a person’s soul…

I ring the bell at her parents’ place, my arm around her shoulders. She’s leaning against me, not really present. Her dad opens the door, looking angry, before he sees his daughter and his face turns to shock. “What happened?” he demands, already reaching for his girl. He takes her in his arms and carries her into the house.

His wife comes down in a bathrobe. “What’s going on?” she asks me as I step inside.

After explaining to the shocked parents what happened, I e-mail them the pictures I took and tell them I’m available to make a statement if they decide to sue the guy. I don’t mention that Carter’s sons threw the party. I know they’ll find out, but I’m afraid they’ll sue Carter then, so it’s best not to volunteer that information.

They thank me, and I take their daughter’s two friends home. As I drive back to the house, I take deep breaths. In and out. What do I do if the party is still in full swing? Do I call the police? Do I call Carter? What if they choose to ignore my instructions in front of all their friends? Well, I have to finish what I started now.

Back in the driveway, I get out of the car. Hoping to find the house empty, I open the door. The boys and a few of their friends are cleaning up, but everybody else is gone. I breathe a sigh of relief.

After getting a broom, I sweep up some crushed chips. Hunter gives me a surprised look, and I shrug. Silently, we work together until everything looks like it did before.

While the others say goodbye, one of the girls approaches me and says, “What you did was really cool.” I can only reply with a small nod. It’s been a long day. Work was draining, and the rest of the events of the day just wore me out. Suddenly, I feel exhausted.

I look at Hunter and Carey, who look a little angry but mostly embarrassed. Wordlessly, I go upstairs to my bedroom. Carter’s bedroom.

After taking a shower, I lie down, but I can’t fall asleep. I can’t stop thinking about what happened, and I don’t know what to do about it. Should I tell Carter? Should I not tell him? Should I talk to the boys? Then again, what would be the point of that? They’re not going to listen. They hate me, probably even more now. I don’t stand a chance with them. But would they listen to Carter? Or would that destroy any chance we may still have at living together peacefully?

After tossing and turning for hours, I get up to grab a drink. Wrapping my bathrobe around me, I tiptoe into the hallway. Just before I pass Hunter’s room, the door opens, and a girl comes out. Hunter stands, topless, in the doorway and kisses her. She doesn’t notice me as she turns and hurries down the stairs. Hunter turns toward me and gives me an arrogant smile.

He pushes one hand into his boxers and moves it up and down. I blush and hurry downstairs, haunted by his mocking smile. How could a nice man like Carter have such an asshole for a son?

* * *

“Hey, Mac!” Shane calls out as I come in.

I give him a faint smile and wave before heading to my office. Generally, I work with people by appointment, but when nobody’s scheduled, the door is always open. Today, there’s a timid knock on my door.

“Come in,” I say, and a young woman with a black eye and an arm in a cast hovers in the doorway. My heart feels heavy seeing the nervous look on her face. She should look proud. It’s damn brave of her to seek help, to free herself of being a victim, to start taking her life into her own hands again.

I’ve seen enough to know it’s always the same story. She loves her boyfriend, and he claims to love her, too. But his love hurts. First, it’s just a slap on the cheek, and he’s in tears apologizing, promising it will never happen again.

But it does. Again and again.

Every time, it gets worse. Every time, his love hurts just a little more. Until she ends up in the hospital for the first time—then for the fifth.

Until he doesn’t just hit her, he chokes and kicks her. Until he picks up a baseball bat to show her just how much he loves her, that she’s his girl—that she holds no power whatsoever in their relationship. Until he rapes her because she’s his—his property—and he can do whatever the fuck he wants with her. Until he threatens that, the next time, he is going to kill her.

But in between, he gives her flowers and chocolate and promises to get his anger issues under control, promises he’ll never hurt her again.

Until then he does it again. And again. And again.

Until she finally decides to leave him for good, and he gets so angry he beats her up harder than ever before—until she takes it back and promises to stay with him forever while his hands close around her throat and squeeze so hard she passes out.

And then it’s not just bruises anymore but broken bones. And it’s not just her body that’s broken but her soul, too. And there’s nothing left but a husk of the fun-loving girl she once was. And she forgets that life could be different…

It’s tough to listen to these women because they all tell me the same story about feeling completely helpless in this male-dominated world. But when they come to me, they’ve taken the first step. The first step toward regaining control of their lives. The first step toward reclaiming their pride and dignity. The first step toward healing.

When we’ve talked enough for one day, I take the new girl over to Jean. He’s in the middle of giving a class, and, as usual, my heart opens up as I watch these women taking their new lives by storm, when just a few weeks ago, they’d lost all zest for living.

Hold on, I silently encourage them, with a glance at the new girl. Don’t let go! These ladies know it’s up to them. We’re here to help them, but they have to go through it themselves and be their own driving force. We can only help if they want to help themselves.

Again and again, we meet women who return to situations of abuse. But most of those who come to us, taking that first step on their own, manage to build a new life for themselves, even if it takes two or three tries…or sometimes eight.

Giving an encouraging smile, I gently squeeze the new girl’s arm, because I know she’s afraid of reclaiming control.

* * *

That evening, I meet my best friend Brittany for dinner.

“Hey, hon,” she says as I join her at a table in one of our favorite restaurants.

“Hey,” I say, dramatically letting my head sink onto the table.

She laughs. “Tired?”

Lifting my head, I nod and squeeze her hand. “Life has been hell lately.”

“Why?”

“I met Carter’s sons.”

“Oh my god,” she says and waves the waiter over. After ordering a whole bottle of white wine, she asks, “That bad?”

I nod again. “They hate me.”

“They don’t hate you,” she says firmly. “They don’t even know you.”

I shake my head. “Brit, I know you’re trying to be nice, but they hate me! Plus, they’re spoiled, arrogant little fucks that could really use a good spanking.”

She laughs. “You’re swearing. It must be pretty bad.”

I moan. “It’s a disaster. They think I’m only with Carter for his money. They blame their dad for leaving their mom, because she started drinking after their divorce. And I’m the first woman their father has introduced to them since then. Which makes me something akin to the Antichrist. And you know what makes things even better? They’ve decided to move back to San Diego.”

Brit raises her eyebrows. “They’re going to live with Carter?”

“No, they’re going to live in juvie,” I snap. “Of course they’re going to live with Carter! They’re his kids.”

“But it’s your home, too,” she protests.

“Well, he asked me if it was okay, and I said yes.”

“Why?”

I look at her like she’s suddenly grown three heads. “Because they’re his sons, Brit. What part of this story didn’t you understand?”

“But if they’re assholes, why don’t you just send them home?”

I give her an irritated look. “I don’t know what planet you live on, but what do you think Carter would do if I slammed the door in his sons’ faces? He loves them!”

She nods thoughtfully. “You’re right. He probably wouldn’t like that. So then—I mean, what exactly’s wrong with them?”

“They cuss me out and say stuff you just shouldn’t say to anybody. Last night, they threw a house party after Carter told them no parties, and do what Mackenzie says. That just worked out great, didn’t it? One girl was about to get raped when I got there. God knows how many have been raped at their parties in the past!” Rubbing my forehead, I think about it for a moment. “God, maybe Hunter’s even done it, too.”

Brit looks at me in shock. “You think Carter’s kid… We’re talking about Carter, right? You actually think his son is a rapist?”

Embarrassment courses through my body. “No—I don’t know. God, I’m such a bitch.”

“Sweetie, I know you’re in a tough situation, but calling someone a rapist without any evidence… That’s going a bit far.”

I nod. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right. I’m awesome.”

“Sure you are.” I roll my eyes and sigh. “Even if they haven’t exactly been nice to me, I have to be the grown up in this situation. And, to a certain degree, I understand. All that stuff with their mom can’t have been easy on them.”

“But that doesn’t give them the right to treat others like shit—especially you.”

I can’t help smiling, because it’s typical for our conversations to go like this—where we keep swapping roles, taking turns accusing and defending. Gotta love Brit. She knows how to look at things from every possible angle.

“Of course not,” I say, “but—”

“No buts, hon,” she interrupts. “You’re awesome. They should be kissing the ground you walk on.” She grins. “But let’s talk about the important stuff. Are they as hot as Carter?”

“You’re impossible,” I say, throwing my napkin at her.

“Well, are they?”

“I’ll tell you what they are: jailbait,” I say.

She laughs. “Chill. I was just wondering if I should come knocking a few years down the road.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Don’t you remember what I do for a living?”

She waves me off. “Oh, come on. I’d show them a good time, and it would all be consensual.”

“Jesus! You sound like all those old dudes fucking little girls!”

She looks at me in mock shock. “Seriously, Ms. Hall? Watch your language!”

“Be serious,” I say, annoyed.

“Chillax. I was just wondering if they’re good-looking. Which you still haven’t answered.”

“No,” I say firmly.

She squints. “Liar!”

“For a sixteen-year-old girl, they’re probably a wet dream,” I snap, “but they’re my boyfriend’s kids. Remember Carter? The perfect gentleman?”

She laughs. “Okay, okay. We’ll wait a few years for this conversation.”

Relieved she finally dropped it, I sigh. “Seriously, Brit, what am I gonna do?”

She shrugs. “Pray.”

“Very funny.”

“Does Carter know how they talk to you?” she asks, finally serious.

“No.”

“Why don’t you tell him?”

“Because I don’t want to rat them out. I think if I do that, I can forget about building any kind of relationship with them.”

She nods slowly. “Maybe. But you also can’t let them bully you. What’s been your reaction to them so far?”

“Pfft.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, hon.”

“Sorry, I don’t have a better one.”

“So you’re letting them bully you.”

I nod despondently.

“You are aware you’re a battered women’s counselor, right? Helping women out of abusive situations on the daily?”

“Yes!” I snap.

“Just asking. I mean, you work every day in a place that promotes female empowerment. But you’re letting two spoiled teenagers bully you. Somehow that doesn’t compute.”

“I hate to say it,” I sigh, “but you’re right.”

She pumps a fist in the air. “Yes! That’s the second time today!”

I shake my head, which makes her laugh. “So what should I do?”

“Tell Carter.”

“What if he doesn’t believe me? Or, worse, what if he does but decides to side with his kids?”

She looks at me calmly. “Are we talking about Carter here? The man who’s absolutely crazy about you?”

I nod, smiling faintly.

“That’s what I thought,” Brit says with a satisfied smirk.