Page 96 of Last Chorus

“I hope he gets prison justice,” Rye murmurs.

I nod somberly. “Same.”

Emma squirms, huffs in annoyance, and promptly chucks the sensory toy across the room. Rye and I share a knowing smile.

Facing Emma, I widen my eyes. “Who wants to go for a walk and collect flowers for their mommy and Aunt Eva before lunch?”

“Me!” she screeches, jumping up and down. I catch her as she nosedives off the couch.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

evangeline

THREE WEEKS LATER

My pen scratches over a page in my journal, the words sloppy, almost illegible. But I don’t suppose it matters. I already know I’ll never read this one again.

I’m barely cognizant of what I’m writing, only the effort and necessity of it. My aching fingers. Shallow breaths. Sweaty palms. The unknown force that wakes me each morning and propels me into the office downstairs, where I spend an hour or more metaphorically bleeding onto a blank page.

Pausing to stretch a cramp from my hand, I look atthe sticky notes lining the top of the desk. A new one appears every day, all of them various quotes in Wilder’s handwriting.

The newest reads:

“Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know before you learned it.”

-Maya Angelou

I’m trying.

Fuck, I’m really trying.

Talking to Kendra has helped, as have conversations with my mom, Rose, and Wilder. Each of them has experience with where I find myself—at the intersection between anger, guilt, and self-forgiveness. Between them and twice-weekly video calls with my new therapist, I’m learning how to navigate my jagged internal landscape.

I do my best to stay focused on the present and grounded in gratitude for my life. For the opportunity to learn and heal andfeel. For Wilder, for the love and forgiveness of my family and friends. For the Glow album Lily and I are recording, and for the magnanimity of Cory Donovan at Indigo Records, who accepted my stumbling, heartfelt apologies and didn’t hesitate to offer us a new contract.

And I’m deeply grateful for Poppy Cole, whoreached out to me after a video I posted on social media went viral. In it, I spoke candidly about Clay’s emotional abuse, my shame and struggles to recover from it, and my disgust for his actions. I also said I hope his dick falls off and he never sees the sun again, but Anita made me cut that part out.

Poppy’s and my first conversation started off painfully awkward and ended with tears. She shared that a week or so after I left Clay and disappeared, their paths crossed at a charity luncheon. Over the years, she’d grown numb to seeing him at events, but this time he was baldly attempting to charm a seventeen-year-old singer just starting out in the industry. Overcome with rage, she intervened. He later pulled her aside and threatened to release the videos of her at sixteen if she stepped out of line again.

The interaction sent her into a week-long depressive episode that ended with what she called, “the mother of all ‘fuck it’ moments.”

Turns out that Poppy, like Kendra, kept receipts. Emails. Text messages. Voicemails. Photos. All damning, all proving that not only did Clay manipulate her into thinking he was the ticket to success in the music industry, he coerced her into having sex not only with him but several others. All when she was barely sixteen, newlyemancipated from her parents and fresh off the bus from a small town in Colorado.

Through untamed sobs, I told her how sorry I was, that I was in awe of her, and that I hoped she knew how unbelievably brave she was. She broke down too, then said something that cemented her a place in my heart forever.

“In one way or another, I’ve been a victim my whole life. Of people like my parents, of men like Clay, of a world that taught me that my worth was measured by how pleasing I was to others. I’m done with all of it. No more contorting myself to fit into the tiny box they forced me into. I want to be free.”

We’ve talked almost daily since, and I’ve basically adopted her as my little sister. She’s visiting Seattle soon; I’m flying down to support her when she’s called to testify. Lily and I have also committed to partnering with her on her campaign aimed at empowering young women.

None of this has been easy, but every day I find a little more space in my heart for acceptance of the past and of myself.

Closing my journal, I scan the collection of stickynotes. My lips quirk at the randomness of Wilder’s small, daily gifts.

"Life is pain… Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

- The Princess Bride

“My ego is not my amigo.”

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