The Enforcer - Kelli Callahan Page 0,36

full of shame.

“Not all those people leave, Diana,” he says, his voice a little impatient. “Many of them die. But you didn’t die. Regardless of why you survived. You’re a fighter. And you’re working to put yourself back together again.”

I feel a rush of shame and joy hearing the way he defends me against myself.

“Think of the example you’ve given your daughter. Right now,” he says, “you have shown her that a woman can fall and still pick herself up again. I mean for Christ’s sake, you’re in therapy, Diana,” he says. I can feel his eyes on me. “That takes balls.”

I laugh.

“People don’t go through what you went through and get labeled as cowards. They’re survivors. You are a survivor,” he grabs my shoulder, urging me.

“I feel weak,” I whisper.

“That’s because he made you feel weak for so long. But you aren’t weak.”

“I have flashbacks all the time. I see a man in a pinstripe suit. And then I can’t breathe. I’m sitting in the car, and he’s screaming at me, his hand raised over something so trivial, I can’t even remember. I embarrassed him in some way or other. I―”

“I know, Diana,” he says assuringly. “Believe it or not, I’m familiar with trauma and domestic violence,” he murmurs.

“How?” I look up to him.

“The long story of my own.” He sighs, kissing his lips to my hair. “Why did you marry him?”

“Because initially, I didn’t know he was the awful person he truly is. He used to be funny, charming. He had style and flair. He was an important man. And he paid attention to me. Me, the poor girl from a small town in Wyoming who got pregnant her senior year of high school, couldn’t afford to go to college and was a maid at Best Western hotels. I was poor. He made me feel important. And he promised to take me away from that life if only I would be a good wife to him. Someone he could rely on, someone who would be able to handle the burden of being a politician’s wife,” I laugh without humor. “When he said that to me, I thought it meant that he would have demanding hours, or that I would have to learn how to host dinner parties. It never occurred to me that the hardest part about being married to a mayor would be the mayor.”

“I think I understand,” he says.

I nod my head against his shoulder. “I tried getting help once. Really, I did. I went to the local domestic violence shelter to try getting resources to understand more fully what I was going through.”

“What happened?” I can hear the concern in his voice.

“He got angry. He said I betrayed him and the confidence of marriage. What happens at home between a couple stays there and is dealt with in the home, too.”

“Ridiculous,” Jake mutters under his breath.

“It was. That night was horrible.”

“Did he ever hurt Holly?”

“No, I don’t think he ever hurt her. If he had, I’m pretty sure she would have told me.”

“Would you have left sooner if he had hurt her?”

“Yes,” I say, craning my head to look at him. “Of course I would. I wouldn’t ever let anyone hurt my child. She’s innocent and doesn’t deserve that.”

“And you did?” he asks, running his fingers up and down my cheekbone.

“No, of course not. It’s just...I don’t know, I don’t think I ever really had the sense of self-worth that people like my daughter innately have. I never felt good enough. My therapist tells me that makes me a perfect target for people like my ex-husband. She says that people like him need a victim, someone who will look up to them and idolize them and worship the ground they walk on. It makes it that much easier for them to manipulate people because they can appeal to us on an emotional level while also having their own parasitic needs met.”

“Wow,” Jake whispers, staring at me in awe. “That’s quite a way to put it.”

“It really is, and I think she’s right. I didn’t have my own emotional needs met as a child. Sure, my parents loved me, but they weren’t really involved. They were good church-going people, and they didn’t talk about the harder things in life. We never discussed teen pregnancy or poverty, or abusive relationships. All we talked about was God. And,” I laugh in amazement, “service projects.

“My parents didn’t seem to have a real personality outside of the Baptist church. Every