Chapter 24 Cece
CECE
Being questioned is its own special kind of hell. After giving my statement to the sheriff, I had hoped that would be the end of it. But, here I sit on the couch in the guesthouse living room, a mug of tea growing cold between my palms as Joe, my father, and Brayden all stare at me.
“Let me get this straight,” Joe says, his pen hovering above his legal pad. “Ethan followed you into the women's restroom at Tony's, cornered you against the sink, and then proceeded to verbally and physically intimidate you?”
“Yes.” I hold up my wrists where Ethan's fingerprints are still branded into my skin, now a sickening blend of purple and yellow. “He grabbed me here when I tried to leave.”
Brayden paces behind the couch as I recount the story again.
“And what exactly did he say to you?” Joe asks.
I swallow, glancing at my father who sits rigidly in the armchair across from me. “He made comments about our marriage. Intimate details. He implied that our marriage failed because I did not please him.”
I take a deep breath and force myself to look directly at Joe rather than my father.
“When Ethan realized I was...intimate with Brayden, he became enraged.
He called me a slut, demanded to know if I'd thought about him while Brayden and I were intimate…” I trail off, my cheeks burning.
“When I tried to leave, he grabbed me harder. He pushed me against the wall and said—” my voice catches, “that I should let him remind me what a real man feels like.”
The sound of Brayden's fist hitting the wall makes me jump. My father's face has gone completely white.
“He was trying to force himself on me,” I finish quietly. “If Brayden hadn't come in when he did...”
My father rises abruptly. His face is a mask of shock and a hard, unforgiving sternness I’ve rarely seen directed at anyone but the most egregious sinners in his congregation.
Joe continues writing, his pen scratching against the paper, the only sound in the room besides my father’s labored breaths.
“And what did you do to him specifically, Brayden?”
“I slammed him against the wall,” Brayden answers, “Had my arm across his throat. Told him if he ever touched her again, I'd break every bone in his hands.”
My father's eyes widen, but I notice he doesn't condemn the violence. Not this time.
“Did you strike him?” Joe asks, his pen poised above the paper.
“No,” Brayden says. “Just held him there until Cece asked me to let him go.”
Joe nods, jotting something down. “That distinction matters. Restraint versus assault changes the entire legal picture.”
The room goes quiet again.
My father hasn’t spoken in several minutes. He sits stiffly, hands twisting around one another, his Bible untouched beside him. His eyes haven’t lifted from the table, as if the grain in the wood might offer an answer he’s spent years avoiding.
Then he turns toward me.
Tears track down his cheeks, slow and heavy. In my entire life, I’ve only seen my father cry twice: at my mother’s funeral, and when he gave me away to Ethan.
“This…” His voice catches, the word breaking in half. “All this time… I did not see it.”
My breath stalls. I’ve imagined this moment for years, the moment he finally acknowledged the truth, but now that it’s here, I don’t know how to breathe around it.
“Dad—”
He lifts a hand to stop me. “No. Let me speak.”
Joe glances up but stays silent, sensing the shift.
My father inhales sharply, his shoulders tightening under the weight of words he never imagined he’d have to say.
“I should have seen it. A father is supposed to protect his daughter. I preached that. I believed it. And yet, under my own roof, in my own family, I let a predator slip a ring onto your finger.”
The confession hangs in the room like a fragile glass, one wrong move away from shattering.
Reverend Montgomery—unshakeable, righteous, immovable—finally cracking under the truth he’d refused to see.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say softly, though the words scrape on their way out. “Ethan hid who he was. He fooled a lot of people.”
My father closes his eyes. Slowly shakes his head.
“No. I fooled myself.” His voice deepens with grief and something close to self-loathing. “I chose to believe him. I chose the easier story. I chose the man who quoted scripture and shook my hand in public… instead of the daughter who was crying out for help in ways I never bothered to understand.”
My throat burns.
He looks at me then—really looks—and the pain in his eyes is staggering. “I encouraged you to marry him,” he says, the truth ripping out of him. “I placed you in the hands of a man who hurt you. I did that. And I have to live with it.”
And for the first time, he is no longer my preacher. No longer the man who told me what God wanted. Just a broken father finally realizing the depth of the damage his blindness caused.
Brayden stops pacing, his eyes locked on my father. I can feel the grudging respect building between them—two men who can barely stand each other finding common ground in their hatred of Ethan.
“What matters now,” Joe says, his voice steady but edged with urgency, “is strengthening what we already have. The sheriff’s office took the initial photos, but that isn’t enough.
We need documentation from someone outside the mayor’s reach.
Cece, I want a second medical evaluation.
A full set of photographs and an examiner’s report from a professional who isn’t tied to Kincaid.
That will give us evidence no one can tamper with. ”
I nod, though the thought of more strangers examining me, documenting my humiliation, makes me want to crawl out of my skin. “When?”
“Today, if possible. I know a doctor who can see you this afternoon.” Joe turns to my father.
“I can make that happen,” Brayden agrees. “Whatever we need to do, we’ll do it.”
“What can I do?” my father interjects. “Give me something. Anything.”
“You mentioned that one of your congregants came to you about what happened yesterday. I will need to speak to her. I will also get in contact with the restaurant owner and any of his staff who were working. Maybe we’ll be lucky, and he’ll have security cameras.”
“The Kincaids have their fingers in everything,” I say quietly, setting my untouched tea on the coffee table. “Even if there was footage, it's probably long gone by now.”
“We won't know until we try,” Joe replies. “And regardless, witness testimony will be crucial. People saw you both at the restaurant. They saw Ethan approach your table.”
My father straightens his shoulders as he takes his seat again. “Mrs. Holloway will speak the truth. She's been my secretary for thirty years. Her loyalty is to the church, not to the Kincaids.”
“Dad, no offense, but the church isn't exactly neutral territory when it comes to me versus Ethan.” The words come out more bitter than I intended, but I can't take them back now.
His face falls slightly. “The past is behind us now.”
Is it, though? I want to believe him, but trust is hard to rebuild. I open my mouth to say more but stop myself. This isn't the time to unpack years of resentment and hurt.
“Joe,” I say instead, turning to face him directly, “you need to understand something.
This isn't just about what happened in that bathroom.” I lean forward.
“This is personal for the Kincaids. I didn't lay a finger on Ethan other than defending myself. This is them punishing me for divorcing Ethan and for publicly embarrassing them.”
Joe's pen pauses over his legal pad. “Punishment for the divorce?”
“Exactly.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in my chest. “I thought hurting the church by pulling their funding for the Church fundraiser was going to be the most damage. But they aren't going to back off. Not now, not ever.”
Brayden's hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “They're powerful, but they're not untouchable.”
“Exactly,” Joe agrees, tapping his pen against his pad. “The Kincaids are used to getting their way, which makes them arrogant. Arrogant people make mistakes.”
“What kind of mistakes?” my father asks, leaning forward in his chair.
“They overreach. They get sloppy.” Joe looks at me with renewed purpose. “This false accusation against you? That's an overreach. They're counting on their influence to overcome facts. But facts are stubborn things, and we have them on our side.”
I want to believe him, but fear tightens around my heart, squeezing until it’s hard to breathe. “What if it’s not enough? What if they’ve already poisoned the well? This is a small town, and people talk.”
“Then we’ll speak louder,” my father says, surprising me with the force behind his words. “From the pulpit if we have to.”
I stare at him, momentarily stunned. The thought of my father standing in front of the congregation and defending me against Ethan feels unreal—a glimpse of a world where the past five years unfolded differently, where he chose me over appearances.
“You'd do that?”
My father looks wounded by my doubt. “You’re my daughter, Cecelia. The only family I have left. I will not tolerate the Kincaids hurting you, me, or my church any longer. This ends now.”
“Dad,” I start. “I appreciate that, but I don't want to drag the church into this mess.”
“The church is already involved,” he says firmly. “When they attacked you, they attacked me. When they withdrew their funding to punish you, they punished the children who benefit from our charity drive.”
Brayden's hand tightens on my shoulder, a silent show of support that steadies me more than he knows.
“Thomas is right,” Joe says, surprising me with his use of my father's first name.
“The Kincaids have made this bigger than a personal vendetta.
They've weaponized their influence against both you and the church. That gives us more leverage, not less. We just have to prove it, and that is going to take some time.”