Chapter 2: The Ghost in the Passenger Seat

One Year Later

The morning sun filtered through the canopy of the massive oak trees, casting dappled, golden light across the wooden deck of the clinic.

I stood by the railing, holding a clipboard, breathing in the scent of pine and fresh earth. Marcus walked out of the sliding glass doors, wiping grease from his hands with a rag, and tossed me a set of keys.

"The generator is fixed," he grunted, leaning against the railing next to me. "Though if we get another storm like last week, I’m billing you for a new one."

"Put it on my tab," I smiled, checking a box on my clipboard.

We had pooled the settlement money I received from the dissolution of the Vanguard assets and bought an old, sprawling lodge on the outskirts of the state. We converted it into a safe house and private rehabilitation center for survivors of domestic abuse and trafficking. Marcus ran the medical wing, finally operating in the light, and I returned to my roots, acting as the head nurse and administrator.

We called it The Vanguard. Not in honor of Richard, but as a reclamation of the word. We were the frontline. We were the protectors.

The sliding glass door opened again, and Elena stepped out, carrying a tray of freshly brewed coffee. Her hair had grown out into soft, loose waves, and the shadows that used to haunt her eyes had been replaced by a bright, resilient warmth. She was in her final semester of getting her MSW—Masters of Social Work. She was going to spend her life helping women pull themselves out of the dark, just as she had.

"Morning, you two," she chirped, setting the tray on a patio table. "First group therapy session is in twenty minutes. Are we ready?"

"Born ready, Ellie," I said, taking a mug from the tray.

I looked down at what I was wearing. It was a simple, loose-fitting cotton dress. And it was emerald green.

For a long time after that night in the ballroom, I couldn't stomach the color. It reminded me of the corset, the suffocation, the blood on the marble floor. But as I watched my sister laugh at one of Marcus's dry jokes, I realized that I had taken the color back. It no longer belonged to Richard’s gilded cage. It belonged to the forest around us. It belonged to growth, to life, and to the fierce, unyielding bond between two sisters who had walked through the fire and come out on the other side.

"Hey, Izzy," Elena called out, pausing with her hand on the glass door. She looked back at me, a soft, knowing smile on her face. "Happy birthday."

I took a deep breath of the crisp, mountain air, letting it fill my lungs completely. There were no corsets. There was no fear.