Those 7 years: Missing One Shot Chapter

22

The morning sun filtered through the curtains as I stood by the window, watching the world outside. It felt strange, looking out at the familiar sights of home after so long. It was our first day stepping back into the real world, just me and Leo. I glanced over at him as he tugged at his little blue mask, his bright blue eyes—the same shade as mine-peeking out from beneath his unruly hair.
"Mommy, do we really have to wear these masks?" he asked, his voice muffled beneath the fabric.

I knelt down, adjusting the straps behind his ears and smiling softly at him. "Yes, baby. We have to. Just for a little while, until we get stronger." His immune system was still fragile after everything we'd been through, and so was mine. But that didn't stop the pang of guilt I felt every time I had to remind him.
"Okay," he sighed, though he didn't seem too bothered by it. "Can we still get a new toy today?"
I smiled, nodding. "Of course. You deserve it."

The trip to the store felt surreal. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching us, following us. Every glance from a passerby made my heart race, my palms sweat. The trauma of the past still clung to me like a second skin, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop looking over my shoulder.
But Leo didn't seem to notice. He was too busy marveling at the toy cars and action figures, his excitement bubbling over. It was a sight that made my heart ache with happiness. For a few moments, he was just a normal kid again, without the shadow of everything we had endured looming over him.

By the time we got home, Leo was clutching his new toys tightly, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. I helped him wash up and change into his pajamas, then tucked him into bed. He was asleep within minutes, his little body curled up under the blankets, his toy car clutched in his hand.
I stood in his doorway for a long time, watching him sleep, the soft rise and fall of his chest a soothing rhythm. But the weight of the day, of everything I had been holding in, was pressing down on me, and I could feel myself cracking under the pressure.
I made my way to the living room, where Travis was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as l approached, his brow furrowing with concern. "You okay?" he asked, setting his phone aside.

I shook my head, feeling the tears already welling up in my eyes. I wasn't okay. I hadn't been okay for a long time.
And I couldn't keep pretending anymore. "I... I need to talk to you," I whispered, my voice trembling as I sat down beside him.
He immediately wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. "You can tell me anything, Tay," he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.
I took a deep breath, trying to gather the strength to speak. But the words came out in a broken rush, as if they had been locked inside me for too long.
"They... they hurt me, Travis. All the time. Every day."
His grip on me tightened, and I could feel the tension in his body as he listened. He didn't interrupt, just let me continue, his thumb gently stroking my arm.

"They beat me," | whispered, my voice barely audible. "If I didn't do what they wanted, they'd hit me. Sometimes for no reason at all, just because they could. They broke my ribs... more than once." I could still feel the ache in my chest, the phantom pain of bones that had long since healed but never forgotten.
Travis's jaw clenched, but he stayed silent, letting me talk. His presence was a lifeline, grounding me as I unraveled the darkness inside me.
"They..... they did things to me," l continued, my voice shaking. "Things I can't even... I can't even say out loud." My throat tightened, the words choking me. "They sexually assaulted me, over and over again. And that's how I got Leo." The tears were flowing freely now, my body trembling as I spoke the truth I had buried for so long.

I could feel Travis stiffen beside me, his breath hitching, but he didn't say a word. He just held me, his arms steady and protective, as if he could somehow shield me from the memories.
"They cut me, too," I said, lifting the hem of my shirt to reveal the faint scars that crisscrossed my skin. "With knives.
It was... it was like a game to them.
Seeing how much I could take."
I pulled my sleeve up next, showing him the burn marks on my forearm. "They'd hold candles against my skin, just to watch me scream. I couldn't stop them." My voice cracked, and I buried my face in my hands, the shame and pain too much to bear.