6. Chapter Six #5
I push through the blue door without knocking.
This place has always been mine, in a way.
A quiet refuge that I helped build, one that mirrors the cracks I keep hidden behind a perfect mask.
I used to visit constantly, every fundraiser, every holiday, every quiet afternoon when the loneliness of my own life felt suffocating.
I haven’t been here in almost a year.
Inside, the familiar scent of disinfectant mixed with baking cookies and heartbreak wraps around me, comforting and painful all at once. Marcy is waiting, her face tight with worry, relief blooming in her eyes the moment she sees me.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” she says softly.
“Always,” I whisper, because it’s the truest thing I can say.
She leads me quickly to the girls’ wing.
The damage hits me like a blow, collapsed ceiling tiles, insulation hanging like torn spiderwebs, and a steady drip of water pooling into buckets already brimming over.
Books, donated clothes, toys, all ruined.
The sight of their small belongings wrecked breaks something deep inside me.
“I tried everyone,” Marcy says, voice shaking. “The funding’s stalled, and they won’t approve the insurance claim for weeks…”
“I’ll handle it,” I interrupt, pulling out my phone, already dialing numbers. My voice trembles as I talk to my assistant, to the plumber, to the bank. “I’ll pay whatever it takes. Fix this now. Today.”
Because it’s not just a broken pipe.
It’s broken promises, broken safety, broken trust.
Things I swore I’d never allow here.
Not in this place. Not to these children.
I walk away once it’s handled, my shoulders shaking from the adrenaline crash. My eyes sting with unshed tears, but I don’t allow them to fall.
Not yet.
That’s when I see her.
She’s curled up in the corner of the rec room, arms tightly wrapped around thin knees, eyes dark and hollow, fixed on something no one else can see. Her small frame looks unbearably fragile, like one touch could shatter her completely.
I stop breathing.
Because I recognize that girl instantly. She was me.
She still is, deep down. The girl who never felt safe enough to speak. The girl who nearly drowned in silence and fear.
Marcy touches my arm gently. “That’s Ava. She came two nights ago from a bad foster placement. She won’t speak to anyone.”
My heart squeezes painfully. I don’t need details to know what “bad placement” means.
Slowly, I walk toward her, knees trembling as I sink to the floor beside her beanbag, leaving just enough space for safety. She doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge me.
For a long moment, silence sits between us like a heavy blanket.
Then, softly, I speak.
“My name’s Camille. I haven’t been here in a while. But I used to come all the time.”
Her breathing quickens slightly, but she keeps her eyes fixed on nothing.
“You don’t have to talk to me. But I want you to know… I see you.”
Her small body tenses, as if bracing for pain. Recognition pulses sharply through my chest. I know that feeling, that armor, so painfully well.
She shifts slightly, shoulders tense, trying desperately not to listen, but I see her body still. I see the way she holds her breath, terrified of what might come next.
“When I was ten…my father had this friend.” My voice is barely audible, raw and trembling. The words taste bitter, like rust and regret, burning my throat as they scrape their way out. “He used to visit us often, always smiling. Charming. Harmless, they thought.”
She doesn’t move, but her eyes flick briefly toward me, just enough for me to know she’s hearing every broken word.
“One night, when everyone else was asleep, he came into my room,” I whisper, my chest tightening like a vise.
“He touched me…hurt me in ways no adult should ever touch a child. When I threatened to tell, he panicked. Dragged me to the edge of my parent’s yacht and shoved me into the freezing ocean in the dark. ”
My voice catches, and for a second I can’t breathe, trapped in that memory, the suffocating cold, the shock slicing like razor blades against my skin, water filling my lungs as I sank deeper into the blackness. I force myself to keep speaking, even though my throat aches from the effort.
“I remember sinking, the cold stabbing into me, the silence so deep it scared me. It felt like I was vanishing, like I was nothing. And all I could think was that no one would ever find out what he did, that the ocean would hide it forever.”
When she finally turns toward me, her eyes are wide, glassy with unshed tears, the edges raw from rubbing them dry. She sees me now, really sees me, not the polished Sinclair heiress, but the terrified child beneath. Broken, exposed, bleeding out truths I’d hidden for so many years.
“I tried telling,” I say, voice breaking again, the confession searing hot and shameful in my chest. “But no one really wanted to listen. It was easier to pretend nothing happened. Easier to pretend I made it up. To just...lie. It took a really long time before I understood it wasn’t my fault.
And whatever happened to you…whatever horrible thing you carry around like a secret… .it’s not your fault either.”
Her lips tremble violently, silent tears spilling down her flushed cheeks, leaving dark, wet trails on her pale skin. Her pain feels like my own, tearing open old wounds I thought had scarred over, letting them bleed all over again.
“I didn’t think…” Her voice breaks into a quiet sob, ragged and raw. “I didn’t think anyone could ever believe me.”
Slowly, carefully, I inch closer, my own hands shaking. I don’t touch her, I don’t dare. Instead, I let the warmth of my body bridge the space between us, offering a silent comfort I never knew.
“I believe you,” I whisper fiercely, the words burning like fire, igniting something powerful, something healing in my chest. “I believe every single word.”
She breaks then, collapsing inward, sobbing uncontrollably. Her shoulders shake as the dam she’d built around herself finally crumbles, her pain spilling out like poison she’s held inside for far too long. I don’t touch her. I don’t speak again.
I just sit with her, steady and silent, offering her the strength and safety no one ever gave me.
Because nobody stayed for me. But I’ll stay for her.