“They never record what happens afterward,” I told the jury. “They don’t show the nightmares or the loss of trust. They call it content. I call it cruelty disguised as comedy.”
The courtroom became silent.
Kyle was seated in the gallery. He had also been called to testify, and when our eyes met, he was crying.
Outside, reporters waited on the courthouse steps, but Grant guided me through them without speaking for me.
Kyle called my name.
“Thank you for telling the truth.”
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Jessica and anyone else they might target.”
“I know.”
He glanced at Grant.
“He seems good for you.”
“He doesn’t try to rescue me. He stands beside me while I rescue myself.”
Kyle wiped his eyes.
“Do you hate me?”
Five years earlier, I would have answered immediately. But standing there with a life I had built from nothing, hatred felt like another connection I no longer needed.
