19 months later . . .
“We are in West Palm Beach standing outside the new facility for victims of sexual abuse and rape,” the blonde news anchor with stiff curls reported. “The Abigail House broke ground last fall following a horrible string of events . . .”
The reporter’s voice drifted away into the salty wind. Isla stood pleased in front of the renovated brick building. Holiday lights twinkled. Garland wrapped around the porch and railing. Mammoth ornaments hung from the trees out front, each one inscribed by a survivor.
A thick, red ribbon divided her from the crowd standing on the sidewalk. She wished they all could cut the ribbon with her. Many had a huge impact as to where she was.
Alive.
The explosion and the massacre at Devlin Estate made worldwide headlines. Thirty-seven died. Flowers and candles were laid on the church steps. A fundraiser was started by the congregation to rebuild the sanctuary. A plaque was placed out front of the church in remembrance of Pastor Randolph.
Isla and Jules were held and interviewed for days by the FBI. The government wanted nothing more than to build a case against Amaranthine and its sister companies. Isla didn’t care what happened to Amaranthine. She wanted out. What did it matter? Most of the bosses were dead. Carys perished, as did Martin and Mia.
Isla was smart. She wasn’t attached to any jobs Ellis assigned to her. Cleaning up after herself was always a priority. Ellis was an expert at shrouding his deception. If the FBI had anything on the company, they wouldn’t have waited for the bloodbath.
She turned over private logins and bank accounts for those who were still alive but frequented the underground. All charges pertaining to Gavin’s death were ruled self-defense, as were Jules’s. Her brilliant daughter told the FBI where they could find Henry’s computers. Deals were made, and Jules was released into Isla’s custody. The companies under Amaranthine were spread out across the United States, and whatever dirty dealings the families cultivated, she wasn’t privy to. Those were on them. Amaranthine collapsed, and the others weren’t too far behind.
Zagotta deemed her a traitor, a hypocrite. A murderer. So be it. He could talk all he wanted because the Feds would catch up to him sooner or later. Isla would take the hit. She wanted to be with her daughter and build a safe home for Jules.
The reporter motioned for Isla to join her. She untucked her hand from the black blazer and stepped closer to Mrs. Cindy Dennis. Loose strands of Isla’s bun fluttered in front of her face. She turned back to look at Jules. In a mesh tulle, blue skirt and her favorite scuffed Converse, her daughter gave Isla a thumbs-up.
During the construction of The Abigail House, Isla reached out to the best therapists in Florida. Jules needed guidance, and Isla, right after the massacre, wasn’t in an emotional place to help her daughter. She had her own demons to contend with.
Dr. Pamela Wick—who was first at the ribbon-cutting ceremony—was a godsend.
Jules continued her education at home with a tutor and joined other homeschooled teenagers at the arts center for instruction on painting and photography. During a therapy session, Isla told Jules who her father was and what happened to Isla. She told Jules about her own parents and their tragic end.
Isla was afraid to ask but knew she had to. “Did Henry ever touch you?”
“No.”
“He was never violent with you?”
“Never. He would tell me he would be a better dad than his own.”
Through tears and three boxes of tissues, Jules looked to Isla. “You loved and protected me. Nothing else matters.”
Jules was fierce, determined but full of drama as a teenager should be.
She reminded her of Carys. Isla swore she caught glances of her Scarlett in Jules. God, she missed Carys. Some nights were worse than others. Nightmares of Carys’s body lying in front of her troubled her sleep. Isla experienced a strange occurrence one night. With light surrounding her, Carys breezed into Isla’s dream. She told her she was happy and that it was time for her to move on and stop with the guilt.
Isla hugged Carys. She felt her, smelled her fragrance of jasmine and gardenias. It was an amazing experience, which brought Isla to tears each time she recalled it. The details never darkened. They were always clear.
Upon the FBI’s investigation, agents seized Henry’s hard drives. The revelations were disturbing. Agent Keller, the lead on the investigation, approached Isla days before Halloween. He’d located another laptop Henry had hidden beneath the floorboards at the ranch. He warned her it was graphic, and that there was information about Isla’s parents if she wanted to read it.
She didn’t. Perhaps someday, but Isla needed to heal. Jules needed to heal. The memories of her mom and dad were beautiful and her own. She didn’t want Henry polluting them.
“You have built a remarkable facility, already helping countless victims. You are an inspiration.”
Isla smiled. “Thank you. These women and men are survivors. They are fighters, and my life is better because of them. We battle the darkness together.”
“Is it true you are writing a book about your experiences of sexual abuse?”
“It is. My husband encouraged me to put my story out there. Show people there is life after abuse. It was a difficult process but a healing one, and I grew as a mother and a wife.”
“You aren’t a stranger to scandalous families. How do you handle those critical reviews and remarks from others?”
Isla stared straight into the camera. “Those people don’t have a clue what I went through. They think they know, and they think they can judge while sitting comfortably behind the safety of their computer screens. At first, it hurt, but I refuse to allow those individuals to deter me from helping others. Their destructive mindset is theirs to contend with. Nothing they say can come close to what I’ve survived.”
Isla took a breath after her lengthy reply.
A warm arm brushed against hers. His hand lifted and touched the center of her back. Goosebumps covered her arms.
“Mr. Pierce, what do you think of your wife’s accomplishments?”
Reed’s bright eyes gleamed. Pride burst from his expression. “She’s been through a lot — we’ve been through a lot — and I’m honored to be her husband. I’m honored to be Jules’s father.”
Reed survived the explosion. Isla was devastated, but when he arrived at the precinct, she latched onto him until her attorney pried her off him. He was alive. Isla received a third chance.
Reed explained when she hadn’t returned to the sanctuary right away, he went to look for her. He knew something was wrong, especially since Gavin hadn’t returned either. Reed was outside near the swings when the explosion happened. He ran back in for his sister, but the church was filled with smoke. Fire engulfed the sanctuary. Reed couldn’t reach her.
The fire marshal found explosives beneath the pulpit. He assured Reed and Isla that from where Carys was sitting, the blast would have killed her instantly. It didn’t help. Carys had been alone, and that was Reed’s demon.
Isla and Reed leaned on one another. They cried. They screamed. And, at times, they isolated themselves from the world and the media sharks. Reed was in and out of his attorney’s office. Amaranthine was his to either rebuild, or let go and allow the feds to take apart his family’s business.
He let go.
Reed wanted to build a new empire with his family. Build a business, a future that Jules could be proud of. They had to sever their families’ corrupted roots. They chose to plant new seeds, grow, and flourish in rich soil. The Pierce name was to be cultivated with integrity and love. It was to be a legacy for future generations.
Reed adored Jules. Through the interrogations, the desolation of Amaranthine, and harassment from the other families, Reed and Isla supported one another, and Jules was elated when he adopted her. She loved him, and Isla was quite taken with him as well.
They’d mended together. Not just her and Reed, but Jules as well. The three of them collided and brought each other out from their darkness. They accepted their differences and imperfections. No strings. No bribes.
Love and respect.
Reed and Isla paid for the funerals for Rosa, the four security guards, and of course, Carys. Reed’s remaining siblings reached out, inviting them to Christmas. Perhaps there was hope for reconciliation.
Isla wanted to cremate Henry just so she could dump the ashes where he belonged: in the sewer drain. He deserved nothing greater. Isla didn’t. Their attorney handled everything.
Martin and Mia were laid to rest in the Sutton family mausoleum.
What happened to Reed at the safe house? He never told Isla. She asked once, and all the color drained from his face. He hunched over, dry heaved, and cried. Isla never asked him again.
The enormous scissors the mayor handed to her weighed Isla down. She laughed, and Reed laid his hands on top of hers from behind and kissed her cheek. She closed her eyes and pressed into him, nuzzling him a bit.
“Gross,” Jules said with a cringed face. “This will be on the news, so stop with the make-out session.”
Reed lifted the handle of the scissors with Isla and stuck his tongue out at Jules. She rolled her eyes.
“Mature, Dad.”
“Her attitude is all yours,” Isla said playfully. “When are we going away for our anniversary?”
“Three days, and I’ll have you all to myself in Cala Saona, Formentera, for two weeks.”
She hummed. “Looking forward to it.”
The mayor gave the announcement.
Isla ticked her head at Jules. “Get over here.”
She laid her hands on top of Reed’s. Isla looked at her daughter’s small hands compared to Reed’s, and she couldn’t stop the emotions from taking over. They were her breath and her life. She cherished everything about them, even when Jules was acting a teenage fool and while Reed pulled at his hair like a madman.
Isla’s heart came undone.
Her journey of thorns brought her to the place she was at. She regretted nothing. Even Joe.
Jules wiped a tear from Isla’s cheek. “Don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it. I’m over-the-moon proud of you.”
Jules eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m proud of you too. I love you, Mom.”
“Enough, you two, or I’m going to start, and my brother will never let me live it down.”
“You’re lame.”
“You’re grounded.”
Jules opened her mouth to protest, but Reed laughed.
They were instructed to look straight ahead and cut the ribbon.
One–two–three—
Slice.
The ribbon fluttered in the breeze.
“The Abigail House is officially open,” Mayor Dalton shouted.
Celebration crooned from the crowd. Isla lowered the scissors. The mayor shook each of their hands.
The last corner of Isla’s heart was saved. Brought to life.
She and Reed started a family; one with love and truth. Isla’s tainted tree was burned to the ground, and nothing but ash remained. She didn’t know all the secrets, but who did in a family? Everyone perceived truth differently. Isla wasn’t innocent. Like any family, stories would prattle on during reunions and Easter brunches. What Isla knew was beyond those bloodstained lines, and what she knew was others needed The Abigail House. It wasn’t just a shelter, but also a facility equipped with therapists, employment aid, and housing assistance. It even had a wing dedicated to pregnant women and those with young children.
Reed slid his arms around Isla’s waist as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Let’s get inside. You’re shivering.”
“Thank you, Reed.”
“For what?”
“For loving us.”
He dipped and kissed her lips.
Soft.
Slow.
Isla drifted into his affection. Reed was patient, and they had made great strides with intimacy. She loved those moments with him.
He escorted Isla into the building. A reception of food and drink filled the first two rooms, along with city council members and local business owners. Jules sipped punch with two of her best friends. Reed shook hands with the press. Isla stood near the front entrance taking it all in.
The pale-yellow walls were Jules’s choice, and after Isla had added gray and white accents, Reed hired a local artist to paint canvases of patterned art which left the entry of the building warm and inviting.
Someone lightly tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me?”
Isla turned around. “Yes?”
A woman with a swollen, cut lip laid her hand on her round stomach and stared at the floor. “I—I was told I could come here for help.”
“Of course. Please come in.” Isla escorted her to a small office. “Would you like something to eat?”
The woman nodded.
“Have a seat, and I’ll be right back.”
Isla weaved through the guests, gathered a plate of food and a bottle of water. She returned to the office and handed the plate of fruit and little sandwiches to the young woman. Isla sat down across from her; the woman shoved a strawberry into her mouth.
“I know this is your opening, but I’m scared, and I don’t want to go to the police.”
“I understand, and we’re here for you. Let me get some information from you, and I’ll get you settled in a room,” Isla said and grabbed a pen and paper. “Your name?”
“Olive.”
She wrote down what the woman felt comfortable sharing with her.
“Boy or girl?”
“I don’t know, but if it’s a boy, I’m thinking Samuel, and if it’s a girl, I love the name Abby.”
Isla looked up. “Abigail was my mother’s name.”
Olive smiled, and Isla’s chest lifted to the heavens.
When the paperwork portion was complete, Isla brought her to the second floor. She went over the guidelines, menu, and schedule of the therapists. Isla opened the door; exposed brick and stained wood beams outlined the room. White curtains covered the windows. Sleigh beds were dressed in cotton sheets and plush comforters, and clear crystal globe lights hung from the ceiling.
“Fresh linens are always available. You’ll share a room, but for now, it’s all yours.”
“Wow.” Olive skimmed the space. “It’s real pretty.”
“Make yourself at home, and if you need anything, my cell phone number is in the book next to the bed.”
“Thank you.” She perched on the bed and rubbed her belly. “Is it all right if I take a nap?”
“Of course. I’ll come back and check on you in a bit.” Isla turned to leave the room but stopped. “Olive?”
“Yeah?”
“Know that you are loved. You and your baby are loved. Always.”
Remember: The assault is not your fault. You are the survivor of a crime.
*Women Helping Women*
We are loved.
Be the voice.
Break the cycle.
The End