Chapter 8 - THE BUTTON WITHOUT A SIGNAL
On the fourth anniversary of the raid, I returned home after helping a survivor move into transitional housing.
Rain had begun falling over Arlington.
For a moment, the sound against the windows brought back the fluorescent bathroom, the cracked mirror, and Vance demanding to know what was inside my pocket.
Then the memory passed.
My apartment was quiet.
No one controlled the locks.
No tablets waited beside a prepared dress.
No guests were coming to judge whether I appeared calm enough.
I opened my desk drawer.
The broken fob lay inside its evidence box.
Beneath it was Vance’s request for a mediated meeting.
Marcus had once explained that the device no longer worked. Its transmitter had been destroyed, its button separated from the board.
I picked it up anyway.
My thumb rested where the button had been.
The first press had sent my location.
The second had protected the truth.
The third had brought people through the door.
I no longer needed the device for any of those things.
I knew where I was.
I had built a life where the truth did not depend on another person’s permission.
And I had learned how to open my own door.
I placed the fob back in the box.
Then I picked up Vance’s request.
The mediator’s number appeared at the bottom.
I could meet him and leave after ten minutes.
I could refuse and never hear his voice again.
Neither choice would make me cruel.
Neither would change the legal consequences or reopen the marriage.
The decision no longer belonged to Vance, Beatrice, the company, or the frightened woman I had once been.
It belonged only to me.
I carried the paper to the kitchen.
The recycling bin stood beneath the counter.
My phone rested beside it.
For several seconds, I held the request between them.
Then I set it on the table and turned off the light.
In the entryway, the framed piece of mirror caught a narrow reflection from the street.
May you like
The glass was still cracked.
The woman inside it was standing.
