“I love you,” he whispered. “And we’re going to get through this together. Whatever comes next.”
“I know,” I whispered back. “I know.”
At the reception, the bikers sat at their own table. Other guests gave them nervous looks at first, then curious ones, then grateful ones as word spread about what had happened.
Thomas came to our table during dinner.
“Emily, I want to apologize. We should have tried harder fifteen years ago. Should have found another way.”
“You came back,” I said. “Fifteen years later, you came back. That matters more than you know.”
He handed me a card. “This is my number. The other women I mentioned—they’re ready to talk if you want to press charges. You’re not alone in this. You never were.”
I took the card with trembling hands. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“Whenever you’re ready. Or never. That’s your choice. We’ll support you either way.”
Jake shook Thomas’s hand. “Thank you. For protecting her. For giving her a chance to finally tell the truth.”
The party continued. People danced. Toasts were made. My mother gave a speech that started with an apology and ended with a promise to spend the rest of her life making up for what she didn’t see.
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