My mom looked between us and laughed.

“Hey, Roman, what’s the antonym of hate?”

“Jesse.”

The call came an hour later. We were standing by the door in the hallway when I told Jesse she could do whatever she wanted. Take the truck if she wanted to do it all on her own, or have me come with, if that was okay.

“For the record, I want to be there, but I know it’s not my choice.”

Mom stood next to us and smiled like we were exchanging our vows and not about to engage in a fucking war. It was the one battle I knew we didn’t need any ammo for. Snowflake was equipped with the truth, and that was the strongest weapon on earth. Jesse looked over to my mom, took her hand unexpectedly and squeezed it. “Thank you for loving my father when my mom couldn’t.”

“Thank you for becoming a girl he would be so proud of.” Mom squeezed back.

Great. Now my mother was crying, and Jesse was crying, and I really needed a blunt, a drink, and a complimentary blowie in order not to feel like we were in a This Is Us episode. They hugged. My heart felt like two pieces locking back together into something whole.

My father had been a rapist.

My girlfriend had been raped.

And yet, somehow, I had managed to make the two women in my life stronger, and proud.

I leaned against the doorframe, the keys dangling between my fingers. “So? What’s it going to be? Every minute you spend here is a minute wasted on Emery not being thrown into jail.”

That made her disconnect from my mom.

Mom wiped Jesse’s tears and smiled. “You’re stronger than your circumstances,” she said to her, in English.

Snowflake said, “Spasiba.” Then she turned to me and held out her hand. “Can you be there for me? Just in case I need someone to hold my sword for me?”

I did a little bow with my head. “Why, my princess, I thought you’d never ask.”

TIME STRETCHED BETWEEN THE MINUTE when we got into the truck and the moment my feet hit the asphalt of the police station’s parking lot. Roman made some phone calls. I was too nervous to listen to them. My mind was elsewhere. It was like I was trying to remember why old Jesse had let it happen in the first place. Why I’d let them get away with it.

I didn’t want to see their faces, their sneers, their anger. A part of me, a very ridiculous part, still wanted to please those who’d taken me under their wing when I was just the ex-poor kid from two towns over. A bigger part wanted them to pay for what they’d done to me.

“Yo, hang back for a sec,” Roman said when we leaped out of his truck, lacing his fingers through mine, both of us watching the double glass doors of the police station open as a man in a sheriff’s uniform walked out of them, yanking his belted pants up over his belly.

“Sheriff Brian Diaz.” He shook my hand, and I returned the shake, like it was the most natural thing in the world, before realizing that six months ago I couldn’t have done that. I would have turned around and run away. “Thank you for coming here today. It’s a very brave thing that you’re doing.”

Bane squeezed my hand, still looking at the sheriff. “Bring us up to speed.”

“Well, Miss Carter is going to identify the suspects behind a window. They won’t be able to see her, but she’ll be able to see them.” He turned his gaze back to me, smiling reassuringly. “You won’t have to meet them or speak to them. After that, mainly more paperwork to supplement your amended statement, and you’re done. Evidence is strong and sufficient.”

“How long ago were they arrested?”

“Checked in forty minutes ago,” Brian replied.

Roman nodded solemnly. “Bail?”

“A hundred K.”

My teeth nearly snapped. Was that how little my innocence was worth? Roman massaged my back in circles, still talking calmly to Sheriff Diaz.

“Are they lawyered up yet?”

“Their parents and lawyers are on their way.”

“Let me know if they’re bailed.” Bane’s jaw hardened.

“Protsenko…”

But even Sheriff Diaz knew better than to argue with him over this point.

I wasn’t supposed to come face-to-face with Emery, but somehow, I knew that I would. Like I couldn’t truly move on unless our eyes locked together one last time. And they did. I was just passing through the hallway when Emery, Nolan, and Henry were being moved from the holding cells. The three of them were in handcuffs. My arms were swinging by my sides freely. Free. I was free.

The two large officers behind Emery exchanged annoyed looks, like it shouldn’t have happened, and Villegas shook her head and stared at them blankly. It only took five seconds before Emery was pulled to the door next to the one I was entering, but it was enough.

Our eyes met.

His were empty.

Mine were full.

I knew that, because of the way his gaze widened on mine, when he realized, for the first time, that I wasn’t the girl he’d left behind. I dipped my chin to my chest, smiling and muttering under my breath, “Pleasure running into you like this, Emery.”

Bane waited out front while I was taken into a small white room where the paint job was chipped, rolling down from the ceiling. There was a window at the center of the room that showed us another room, still empty.

Detective Villegas explained the procedure, and the whole time, I thought about the first time Emery Wallace had asked me out on a date. I’d been so giddy and happy that day, I’d accidentally walked straight into a wall.

Looking deep into your rapist’s eyes with them knowing you are on the other side of a tinted window was strange. When Emery walked into the room, I felt warmth spreading through my chest for the first few seconds, before I remembered what we were here for. His pupils dilated when he stared back at the mirrored window, like he, too, was able to look at me. Nolan and Henry were there, along with some men of different ages and attire. The three boys looked pissed and scared, their eyes bright, their jaws slack.

“Take your time. Breathe,” Madison whispered into my ear.

I wielded my sword.

They couldn’t hurt me anymore.

I pointed at the three of them calmly. “They were the ones who did it.”

Villegas nodded and left the room.

I pressed a hand onto the window and smiled at them. Emery smiled back, as if he could see me. It was taunting, but it was there. I took all of him in. His brown-blond hair styled in an expensive haircut and moussed to death. His pretty blue eyes. His slender body, goody-two-shoes Polo shirt. Nolan, who looked like everything wholesome and American in the world. Henry, a WASP from hell, with his lanky frame and bony nose, looking like a classic trust fund baby. I looked at them, and they looked at me, and all they could see was black, because that’s who I was to them.

The darkness.

The stain in their history.

Not to be removed.

Not to be forgotten.

I would spread, and conquer, and be remembered, so that other women would not end up like me.

I pressed my face to the chilly glass, laughing. Bane was outside. He couldn’t be there with me when I identified them. He couldn’t see how crazy they made me, and that was a good thing. That moment of insanity was mine. Not to be shared with others. Well, other than the officers, but I was sure they’d seen worse.

“You’re not getting away with this.” I rolled my head from side to side against the glass, realizing that my closure was going to be different. It was going to be made through lawyers and courthouses and documentation. I couldn’t yell in Emery’s face and bite Nolan the way he’d bitten me, or kick Henry the way he’d kicked me.

And I was okay with that.

I turned around and asked, “Can I go now?”

They escorted me back outside to make sure I didn’t run into any of the boys or their parents. The first thing I did was collapse into my boyfriend’s arms and laugh and cry simultaneously, overwhelmed by emotions. Detective Villegas was there to stand outside the room, a smile tugging at her lips.

And I couldn’t help but feel that justice had been served.

That the princess had won.

And that somehow, she’d even gotten her prince.

A Year Later.

SLUT. THE WHORE OF BABYLON. Jezebel.

Emery, Nolan, and Henry are all in jail now, so these words no longer get tossed in my face when I walk down the street. Thirteen years each, the maximum the state of California usually gives a rapist. The judge had a lot to say about the boys’ behavior when he gave the verdict. Especially after more girls came forward.

Two they met in college.

Emery’s girlfriend, who admitted he’d forced her into doing things with him when they were together.

And Wren, who confessed they’d taken advantage of her one night, when she was too drunk to drive back home.

I say “boys,” but chronologically, they should be men.

They’d never be men.

Men don’t take without asking.

Men don’t abuse women.

Men. Don’t. Rape.

Mayra got her license revoked by the state, and she is now under investigation. Last I heard, she had to sell her house, because she was no longer able to pay her mortgage. Comes with the territory of not being able to practice your profession, I suppose.

My bank account still says that I’m a millionaire, but it is my soul that feels rich these days. My mother is somewhere in Anaheim, couch-surfing with former friends and calling me every now and again, begging for a dime or two. I have yet to touch Darren’s money, but when I do, I know what I’ll be doing with it. I will help others in a way no one helped me when I needed it most.

I talk to Detective Villegas. A lot. Together we brainstorm ideas of what to do with the money. How to make sure it ends up in good hands. But here are the things I would never use it for: Clothes. Homes. Cars. Expensive gifts.

This money has meaning. I just haven’t figured it out yet.

“Birthday pancakes!” Hannah yells from downstairs, and I grin into my pillow, cracking one eye open.

“I’m trying to watch my weight!” I call from my bedroom upstairs. Hannah only comes to work three times a week now, but I still pay her double what Pam did. Thanks, Darren.