Chapter 2 #2
"Michael made sure of that." Her voice was bitter. "He didn't like my friends. Said they were jealous of what we had, that they were trying to turn me against him. One by one, I stopped seeing them. Stopped calling."
Classic abuser tactics. Isolate the victim, make them dependent, then convince them it was their choice. I'd seen it in foster care, watched strong kids get broken down by adults who were supposed to protect them.
"What about your family?"
"My parents live in California. We're not close. They think Michael hung the moon. Successful businessman, comes from the right family, makes good money." She laughed without humor. "I called them from the road. They think I'm crazy for leaving him."
"They don't know what he did to you."
"I tried to tell them. They said I was being dramatic. That every relationship has problems, that I should be grateful someone like him wanted to settle down with someone like me."
Someone like her. Christ. Couldn't they see what I could see—that this woman was perfect exactly as she was?
Thunder crashed outside, making her jump. The wind howled around the house like a living thing. She pulled my hoodie tighter around herself, and I fought the urge to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and promise nothing would ever hurt her again.
“I’ll build a fire. You bring the wine and the glasses.”
“That sounds good, but you’ll have to lead the way.”
I clicked on the flashlight that was on the counter and we walked down the hall to the living room. I settled her on the couch with an old quilt I picked up at a yard sale and as she refilled our wine glasses, I built a nice roaring fire.
"Tell me something about you," she said. “So you won’t be a stranger to me anymore.”
I tensed automatically. "Not much to tell."
"I told you about Michael. The least you can do is return the favor."
She had a point. Fair was fair.
"My parents died when I was five," I said. "Car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light."
"I'm so sorry." The fire crackled between us, casting dancing shadows across Tonya's face as she nursed her wine.
"I went to live with my aunt after that. She didn't want me. She made that crystal clear every single day. I was just another mouth to feed, another burden she hadn't asked for." The old memories tasted bitter even after all these years.
"That’s awful.”
"Foster care was worse when she told the state she just couldn’t take care of me anymore.
” I stared into the fire, seeing those years play out in the flames.
"The first family used me as free babysitting for their biological kids.
Second family... let's just say the foster father had a temper and I talked back once.
Only once. I got kicked out of there too. "
Her sharp intake of breath made me look up. Tears shimmered in her hazel eyes.
"Don't," I said roughly. "Don't cry for me. I survived. That's more than a lot of kids in the system can say."
"It shouldn’t be about survival," she said. “You were just a kid.”
I shrugged. “That’s life.”
"How many homes were you in?" she asked.
"Seven or eight. Some lasted months, some only weeks.
I learned not to unpack my stuff, not to get attached to the family dog, not to believe anyone who said they wanted to keep me.
" I ran a hand through my hair. "Every time someone gave me up, they had a reason.
I was too much work, too sullen, too angry.
They'd signed up to help a grateful orphan, not deal with a kid who had opinions and feelings. "
"So you learned not to get attached to anything."
"Or anyone." I looked at her directly. "Everyone leaves, Tonya. It's just a matter of when."
She was quiet for a moment, absorbing that. "That must have been hard to be so alone.”
"It was, but then I met my brothers."
Her brow furrowed. "Your brothers?"
I smiled. "We met at Maplewood, a group home. All of us were angry at the world. My roommate was this kid named Neil. He was already six-foot-four, built like a linebacker. But he moved like he was afraid of breaking everything he touched."
"What happened to him?"
"His foster families kept sending him back. Said he was too big, too strong, too much. He'd learned to make himself small, quiet, like he was apologizing for taking up space." I refilled her wine glass. "Biggest guy I'd ever seen, and he acted like a ghost."
"That's heartbreaking."
"Then Sam showed up. He ran away three times in the first month.
Finally stayed because Neil and I made it clear we had his back.
" I shook my head, remembering what a time Sam had given us.
"Shane came last. He barely spoke, nightmares so bad the staff wanted to drug him into oblivion.
The three of us pulled him out of that darkness. "
"What happened to him?"
I hesitated. Shane's story wasn't fully mine to tell. "Bad placement. Really bad. He tried to protect another kid and couldn't. It broke something in him for a while."
Tonya's hand covered mine, warm and understanding. "You saved each other."
"We made a pact. The four of us swore we'd never abandon each other, no matter what. We stayed close to the group home until all of us aged out. Then we put our past behind us. Or tried to anyway."
"Just like that? Where did you go?"
"We lived out of Shane's beat-up car and shitty motels when we could afford it while we worked whatever jobs we could find.
Construction, dishwashing, anything that would hire us and let us stay together.
" The memory of those hard months filled me with pride instead of shame.
"We bought lottery tickets, invested in the stock market, pooled our money and saved every dime.
It took almost ten years, but we bought this land together and helped each other build our houses. "
"All on Burke mountain?"
"Yeah. Neil's got a place about forty minutes north by ATV. He runs a custom furniture business out of his workshop. Sam's east. He runs a wilderness guide services. Shane's south, and works as a paramedic, but he lives off-grid."
"And what do you do?"
"Maple syrup. I have a few acres of sugar maples, three hundred taps.
I started small—fifty trees the first year, just enough for personal use.
Now I sell to restaurants in Burlington, high-end markets in Boston.
It's honest work. Sustainable. Something I built with my own hands that no one can take away from me. "
She nodded slowly. "My childhood was lonely in a different way.
My parents are both surgeons—brilliant, successful, completely absorbed in their work.
I learned early that love was conditional on achievement.
Good grades earned hugs. Perfect behavior meant attention.
Anything less, and I was just background noise in their important lives. "
"What did you do? For work, before Michael?"
"Marketing coordinator for a tech startup.
Nothing glamorous, but I was good at it.
Social media strategy, brand development, that sort of thing.
" Her voice turned bitter. "Michael convinced me to quit six months into our relationship.
Said he made enough for both of us, that I was too stressed, that planning our wedding should be my priority. "
"He isolated you financially."
"He isolated me completely. No job, no friends, no life outside of him.
By the time I realized what was happening, I had nothing left that was mine.
" She wiped at her eyes angrily. "Twenty-six years old and I can't even support myself.
I have a degree in marketing and two years of experience, but no recent work history, no references. Who's going to hire me?"
"You could start your own business. Online. Maple products need marketing too." The idea was forming as I spoke. "I'm good at production, terrible at sales. You know social media, brand development. We could partner up."
"I can't even make coffee without burning it. You really think I could help with your business?"
"Different skills. You don't need to make the syrup, just help people want to buy it." I leaned forward. "Besides, marketing is something you can do from anywhere. Even from your grandmother’s cottage in the woods."
Something flickered in her expression—hope, maybe, or the first glimpse of possibility. “If I could get reliable WiFi.”
“I don’t know about reliable, but it works more often than not.”
“It would be nice to have a win,” she said, bemused.
"That's why you stayed with Michael," I said, understanding clicking into place. "He made you feel needed, important. Then he took away everything that made you independent, so you'd need him more."
"He made me feel seen at first. He was so attentive, so interested in everything about me.
He'd text me good morning and good night.
He wanted to know about my day, my thoughts, my dreams." Her voice cracked.
"No one had ever paid that much attention to me before.
And then, so slowly I didn't notice, that attention became surveillance. That interest became interrogation."
"When did you realize what was happening?"
"When I tried to have lunch with my college roommate and he'd scheduled a surprise weekend trip the same day.
When I mentioned joining a book club and he said I should spend that time helping him with work projects instead.
He always had logical reasons. Always framed it as us building our life together.
" She laughed bitterly. "I thought I was being a good partner. Turns out I was just being erased."
"It's never too late to rebuild yourself," I said firmly.
"Isn't it? Look at me—completely dependent on a stranger's charity because I let a man control every aspect of my life."
"You're not dependent. You're regrouping. There's a difference." I caught her eye. "You chose to leave Michael. That took more strength than you realize."
"I don't feel strong. I feel terrified and lost."