Chapter 15
We named it Second Stand.
Dad suggested it.
“The first stand is surviving,” he said. “The second is choosing what comes after.”
Laura liked it.
So did I.
We began small.
A website.
A phone number.
Monthly meetings in a church basement.
Nora volunteered legal education.
Melissa taught credit repair.
Karen handled transportation.
Dad made coffee badly.
Women came quietly at first.
Then in groups.
Some had bruises.
Some had bank statements.
Some had no visible proof at all.
We believed them enough to help them get safe.
That mattered.
One evening, a young woman named Paige arrived with a swollen wrist.
Her mother-in-law had hit her with a pan.
Her husband said she provoked it.
The old script.
My whole body went cold.
Laura took Paige’s hand.
“I know what that sentence does to you,” she said.
Paige began sobbing.
We got her to a hospital.
Then to a lawyer.
Then to a safe place.
That night, I stood outside under the cold stars and cried.
Dad found me.
“Too much?”
“Yes.”
“Worth it?”
May you like
I wiped my face.
“Yes.”
