Ruth’s hands shook.
Diane cried.
But for the first time, the tears were not fear.
Monica entered through the front door.
Still wearing the white gown.
Her heels clicked across the same marble Katherine had once forced her to clean on her knees.
She walked through the dining room.
Into the kitchen.
Ruth backed away.
“I don’t understand.”
Monica reached for her hands.
“My name is Monica Adams.”
Ruth stared.
“I’m a journalist.”
Ruth’s mouth opened.
“I came here because we heard something was happening to women in this house.”
Ruth began shaking.
Monica continued.
“It’s over.”
Ruth started crying.
“You’re safe.”
That sentence broke her.
Ruth collapsed against Monica.
Diane remained frozen near the counter.
Monica looked at her.
“Diane.”
No response.
“No one is locking your door tonight.”
Diane’s face crumpled.
Then she crossed the kitchen in two steps and joined them.
