Page 112 of Truck Hard

Plus, I want to be free of this hold Charlie has over me before I fully give Liam my heart. He deserves that much.

The elderly woman emerges from a stall and washes her hands, humming quietly to herself. The normalcy of the moment strikes me as almost surreal. Here I am, about to face downmy abuser one last time, while life just goes on around me like nothing’s wrong.

“You look lovely, dear,” the woman says kindly as she dries her hands. “That’s a very nice suit.”

“Thank you.” I manage a small smile, smoothing down the gray fabric. It’s new—something I bought myself with my own money from working at Frank’s. Charlie would have hated it. Too dark. Too powerful. He always wanted me in soft, feminine clothes that made me look younger, more vulnerable.

Another way to control me.

The woman leaves, and I’m alone again with my reflection. I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. The face that looks back at me is different from the one I used to see. Stronger. More determined.

A soft knock at the door makes me jump.

“Mrs. Fisher?” It’s James Reynolds, my lawyer. “They’re ready for us.”

This is it.Time to take back my life, my son’s life, our future.

I grab my purse, check my reflection one final time, and walk out with my head held high. James waits in the hallway, his kind face creased with concern.

“We can still do this without you present.” He reminds me gently. “You don’t have to put yourself through this.”

“Yes, I do.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “I need him to see me. To know that he didn’t break me.”

James nods, understanding in his eyes. He’s been handling my case since the beginning, since Edge first helped me escape and connected me with legal aid. He’s seen me at my lowest, terrified and uncertain. But he’s also seen me grow stronger with each small victory.

We walk down the sterile courthouse hallway, our footsteps echoing against the marble floors. My heart pounds harder with each step, but I force myself to keep moving. Through thewindow, I can see trees swaying in the spring breeze, branches heavy with new leaves.

New beginnings.That’s what today is about.

James stops outside a door marked “Conference Room C” and turns to me. “Ready?”

I think of Cam’s hopeful face this morning, of Liam’s unwavering support, of all the reasons I’m doing this. Drawing myself up to my full height, I nod.

“More than ready. Let’s end this.”

James reaches for the door handle, but I stop him with a touch to his arm.

“Whatever happens in there,” I say firmly, “I want you to know how grateful I am. For everything you’ve done for us.”

He smiles, the expression softening his usually stern features. “You did all the hard work, Hannah. I just helped with the paperwork.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. He opens the door, and suddenly I’m face to face with Charlie for what is hopefully the last time in my life.

He sits at the conference table in an expensive suit, looking every bit the successful politician’s son he was raised to be. His parents flank him like guard dogs—Charles Sr. in his custom suit that probably costs more than I make in a month at Frank’s, and his mother, Linda, with her perfectly coiffed hair and judgmental stare.

For a moment, I’m transported back to when I first met them, barely twenty and so desperate to believe that Charlie was my ticket to a better life. They never liked me—the middle-class girl who clearly wasn’t good enough for their precious son—but they tolerated me. At least until the mask started slipping and Charlie’s true nature began to show.

“Hannah.” Charlie’s voice is deceptively cordial as he stands, buttoning his jacket with practiced ease. “You’re looking well.”

The words carry a hint of malice that only I would recognize. A reminder of all the times he commented on my appearance right before tearing me down.

“Hello, Charlie.” I’m proud that my voice doesn’t shake. I take my seat beside James, keeping my spine straight and my chin up. “Mr. and Mrs. Fisher.”

Linda’s lips purse like she’s tasted something sour. She’s never approved of me calling them by their names, even after thirteen years of marriage. She always insisted on the formal “Mother” and “Father” that made my skin crawl.

Charlie’s lawyer—an expensive shark in an Italian suit—begins laying out documents. But Charlie’s eyes never leave my face, studying me with the same intense focus he used to have right before an explosion of violence.

I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to look away first.You don’t own me anymore.

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