Jasmine buckled her half-asleep child in the car. The backs of her eyes stung, and her chest felt as if someone had punched a hole through it. But that cheating bastard didn’t deserve her tears.
Of course he would be engaged to her. Whoever she was, she clearly came from the same circles as Atlas—if her designer shoes were any indication. Her bag probably cost more than Jasmine could ever dream of affording; it screamed money. She was tall, pretty, and model perfect like he’d picked her out of a catalog. Everything I’m not.
Atlas belonged with someone like that. And to entertain the thought of keeping him for herself was clearly a fairy tale. She’d thought he was different. Guess that’s what I get when I open my heart up. Jasmine winced. The worst part was, she had begun to trust him.
So where does that leave Zoey? Had she truly fucked this up for her daughter? Had this all been an act from Atlas to get into her pants?
No. He’d turned her down. So, what did he want?
“Jasmine.” Atlas’s voice brought a fresh wave of pain slicing through her.
“Leave me alone.” She shut Zoey’s door and went over to hers before lifting the handle to open it.
Atlas’s hand clamped over hers. “Please let me explain.”
She shook her head, glancing at Zoey to make sure she was still sleeping. Jasmine lowered her voice, emotionally drained. “I can’t for the love of me figure out what you want. What are you doing here if you have a fiancée like that waiting back home for you? Do you get off on manipulating people?”
“It’s not what it looks like—”
“It never is. What do you want from me, Atlas? It isn’t sex or you’d have not been so chivalrous last night.” Jasmine searched his face.
The only other thing he’d talked about was her inn. He was in real estate.
“Is it the inn?” Her voice broke. Was this all to get her to sell?
He hesitated and closed his eyes, running a hand over his face. “No. It’s not about the inn. I came here . . . and then everything changed. I wasn’t expecting . . . you.”
Why did that have to make her heart flutter? Why did he have to seem so perfect? But he wasn’t. He was engaged!
“Well, I wish you the best for your engagement.” She opened the car door and slipped inside.
He held it open, conflict written across the hard lines and edges of his face. His eyes flashed to Zoey before he lowered his voice. “Veronica isn’t my fiancée.”
She pulled the door, and he stepped into the opening, lowering himself to look her in the eye. “When I was young and stupid, I thought I loved her. I haven’t been with her since I was twenty years old. Since I found out she had been cheating on me with my best friend.”
“You don’t need to tell me this.” She inhaled a shaky breath.
“But I want to. My family is the one pushing for us to get married now, even though I have no intention of doing that—I never did.”
His grey eyes seemed sincere, his words true, but how could she know for sure?
“I’m gonna be late,” she lied.
He bowed his head defeatedly, shoulders slumped as he backed away. She turned the key, hoping it would start and that she’d filled her humiliation quota for the day.
The engine turned over with a squeal, and she winced. She glanced to his sparkling new Mercedes as she backed out of the driveway—yet another reminder of how different their worlds were. Only they did share one thing.
Zoey’s dark hair caught her attention in the rearview mirror. It was time to tell him everything and face the fallout.
She parked the car outside Belle and Bently’s large home. After opening the back door, she unbuckled her daughter. Zoey’s eyes blinked open.
“You go ahead inside. I’m gonna make a call real quick and be right in.” She kissed Zoey’s cheek.
“Otay, Mommy.” Zoey rubbed her eyes before she skipped down the walkway. Belle opened the door and waved. Jasmine pointed to her phone and held up her finger. She waited until the girls were both inside before she turned towards the street and typed out a text to Remy.
Jasmine: Thank you for coming to the inn early to cover for me. I appreciate it. I know it was last minute.
Remy: No problem. Atlas was looking for you. I told him you’d be back later.
Jasmine swallowed the ball of emotions she didn’t even want to start sorting through. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. After a few deep breaths, she grabbed Zoey’s sleepover bag and walked inside.
Bently got home from work with non-birthday cupcakes for them to share—her family at least respected her wish to not celebrate her birthday on the actual day. But in the days that followed, they usually stopped by with their own treats and surprises in increments. She said her goodbye to Zoey.
She climbed in the passenger seat of Belle’s car as her sister-in-law drove them to the old church.
“Everything okay?” Belle asked.
“Just peachy.” Jasmine turned the radio up and stared out the window.
Belle didn’t say anything else as they weaved through the roads towards the meeting. Jasmine was grateful for the silence. Her stomach was in knots, churning with a mixture of doubt and pain.
Once they arrived, they walked into the building together.
“Jasmine?” Belle asked as they climbed the old cement stairs.
“Yeah?”
“Would you prefer if I don’t join you tonight?” Belle asked.
Jasmine opened the door and held it open for her. “Why would you think that?”
“Because in all the months we’ve come here, you’ve never shared your story. If you’d prefer I find another meeting, I can have a different SANE nurse to take my place.”
Jasmine shook her head. “It’s not you. I’ve never . . . told anyone.”
Belle nodded. “Speaking my truth was huge in my healing journey. It was one of the hardest things I had to do, fighting that shame. But I felt lighter after. Like the more I told, the less power it had over me.”
Jasmine looked down. She’d heard Belle’s story. The trauma she’d endured at the hands of her mother’s boyfriends or drug dealers. If anyone would understand her, it would be Belle, and the other women at this Sexual Assault Survivors meeting. But every time she got the urge to open up, the words stuck in her throat like a ball of shame. A sinking feeling that maybe, unlike these women, she had deserved what happened to her. Maybe she truly was a bad person. That’s why Mom left me.
“Don’t listen to them.” Belle’s strong voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Who?”
“Those voices that tell you what you don’t deserve. The ones that tell you you aren’t good enough. Don’t let him hold any more power over you,” Belle said, walking inside.
Jasmine stood stunned, conflict rioting inside her every cell. The urge to flee rose with each pained breath. She turned back to the car, hands raking through her hair. She could do what she usually did, and go in and sit quietly to listen to everyone else share. Or she could turn around and face this for the first time in her life. If anyone could help her, it was these women.
She took a deep breath, gathering all her courage. If she was going to be a better mother for Zoey, she needed to work through her issues.
One shaky step in front of the other, she walked into the church.
Jasmine was the last to arrive. She took an empty seat next to Belle. Charli waved from across the circle of chairs, next to Brynn, the woman from the diner. Oh no. Her too? She recognized a few other women from previous meetings.
“Did everyone get refreshments?” Cassidy Clark, the group therapist, asked.
The ladies nodded.
“Okay, well, I thought we’d start the meeting with some meditation and then affirmations.”
Cassidy led them through fifteen minutes of grounding themselves and speaking strength and resilience aloud.
“Is there anyone who wants to share today?” Cassidy asked.
Jasmine’s chest tightened. Her leg bounced up and down, nerves and anxiety rushing through her. She wanted to, but could she?
Belle placed a hand over hers and squeezed. Her silent support meant everything.
“I-I think . . . I’d like to say something.” Jasmine struggled for breath.
All eyes turned to her.
“Go ahead. We’re listening. This is a safe space,” Cassidy encouraged.
Jasmine stared down at her hands. “I was triggered recently. I had a really bad night. I was so weak.”
Belle’s thumb rubbed over the soft flesh of her hand, soothingly.
“I used to use sex as a form of self-harm. I felt I needed to be punished, so I’d seek out men who would only use me. I felt so powerful in that moment, letting them do exactly that to me, because I was the one who was really pulling the wool over their eyes. I was letting myself be used, so I had the power. Then . . . after . . . the shame would be my ultimate punishment. I’d prove him true.”
“Prove your abuser true?” Cassidy asked.
Jasmine nodded.
“Abusers commonly use shame and threats to keep their victims under control.”
“Well, during that weak moment, I gave in. I just wanted that temporary escape—no matter what I had to pay the next day. I almost erased four years of progress.”
“What stopped you?” Cassidy asked.
Her eyes met Belle’s; nothing but sympathy reflected back. “He did. The man, I mean. He said he wouldn’t take advantage of me because I was drunk and hurting.”
“He sounds like a good guy,” Cassidy observed.
She closed her eyes, tears escaping. “I don’t know. How would I know? How does anyone ever truly know? My brothers are good men and they both hurt the women they loved.”
“Being a good person does not equal perfection. Let me ask you something: do you think you could be self-sabotaging a possible relationship with this man?” Cassidy asked.
Jasmine blinked. “There’s so many other factors. It’s so complicated.”
“There usually is. Just be aware of what is keeping you closed off. Is it that you truly feel he is an unsafe person, or is it because you believe you are unworthy and afraid of the vulnerability that comes with loving someone romantically?”
Jasmine wiped her face. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re not alone, Jasmine. Every woman here has experienced sexual trauma in some way. I myself have. Don’t be discouraged because you had a bad day. Healing is not linear. It’s messy and unpredictable. You can go years without any major hiccups and then the next day it can feel like you’re back at square one. But you’re not. You’ve made it this far, and you can keep on going. Talking about it is the beginning of your healing journey. You will begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Talking about it makes it feel more real. I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” Jasmine confessed.
“Baby steps. No one is asking you to go into the details of your trauma, especially if it triggers you too much. But piece by piece, you can unpack this. The more you share, the more you’re letting go. You’re taking away your abuser’s power. By doing your inner work and letting go of the responsibility for the perpetrator’s actions, you stop holding yourself accountable for things you had no control over.” Cassidy took a sip from her coffee cup before continuing. “And it’s important to be aware of these feelings and not push them aside when they come up.”
Jasmine swallowed hard, willing the ball of nerves in her belly to calm down.
Cassidy crossed her legs. “A piece of your childhood was stolen. To heal, it must be recognized as a loss and then grieved. You can reclaim your power. Remember, you’re not a victim; you’re a victory. And you’re not alone. Every seventy-three seconds, someone in America is sexually abused. Every nine minutes, that victim is a child. You. Are. Not. Alone.”
I’m not alone. I’m not alone.
Belle turned to her. “Sometimes, when we make progress or something new happens that triggers our self-protective responses, it can feel like we go backwards. Old wounds open, memories and flashbacks seem to come from nowhere, pulling us into that darkness.”
Jasmine met her gaze. “But what if that darkness feels like it’s coming from inside me?”
Cassidy offered her a warm smile. “Shame is a powerful weapon. It keeps the victim oppressed. You are not your trauma. You are Jasmine. It happened to you, but it isn’t the core of who you are. Reshape those thoughts when they come. When those voices tell you you’re unworthy. When they say you’re nothing but a whore for sleeping around, change it. Say to yourself, ‘I made some decisions that were not best for me before, but it doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. Everyone makes mistakes. I’m not a failure. I made a mistake and I’ll try better next time.’ Change your mindset. Flip your thoughts around until they stop focusing on you being the problem and instead change the behavior itself.”
“Okay. I can try that.”
“Is there anything else you want to share?”
Jasmine shook her head and leaned back in her chair.
Brynn spoke up next, sharing about her abusive ex. But all Jasmine could do was run through what Cassidy and Belle had said to her. Was she sabotaging this thing with Atlas?
His explanation made sense. He’d never kept how much his family expectations had been a thorn in his side a secret. How they didn’t see eye to eye. His actions said he was a man worthy of her trust. He’d even sent Veronica away, telling her she’d wasted her time. Should Jasmine give him the benefit of the doubt? Could she trust him with her heart?
Fear sluiced through her at the thought. Maybe this was what Cassidy meant. Maybe this was where she pushed the urge to run in the opposite direction and walked towards something good, towards Atlas. Her tiny beacon of light in the darkness of her relationships. A lighthouse in the storm.
But first, she had to tell him about Zoey.
Tonight she’d tell him everything.