“Step out of the car.
We’re here.” Michael’s voice broke Jean out of her deep thinking, and she sat upright, her eyes scanning every inch of their surrounding as though she was already searching for an escape route.
Michael’s car was parked on the road, just beside the sidewalk, and to her right, just outside the window, Jean could see the house she had grown up in.
From where she was seated in the car, Jean could see the window of the living room, and she saw that the light was switched on, meaning that someone was home.
The possibility that the person inside the house could be Pete, her aunt’s husband, made Jean’s heart skip a thousand beats, and she had to clench both hands into tight fists to stop them from shaking.
“How do you know where I lived?” Jean asked.
She had asked the question not because she wanted to know, no.
She had only asked because she wanted to stall for as long as she could.
She did not think that she was ready to face her aunt and her husband, Pete, not after what she had done to him just before she left the house for good.
“There’s nothing about you that I don’t know, little thief,” Michael responded.
Jean wanted to scoff at Michael’s words because they were ridiculous.
If he truly knew everything about her as he claimed, then he would not be bringing her back here, straight into Pete’s arms.
But then, they were the same kind of people, Pete and Michael.
The only difference was that Michael hadn’t started drinking yet.
And to be honest, he didn’t need to; he already had her trapped.
He could do to her whatever he wanted, and whenever he wanted to.
The clicking sound of the seatbelt made Jean’s attention snap into focus, and only then did she realize that Michael had leaned over and had helped her unhook her seatbelt.
Leaning so close to her, Jean could smell the scent of aftershave on him, and the very rich perfume he used, the same as the first time they had met.
“We won’t make it back to New York today,” Michael said, returning to his seat, then unhooking his seatbelt.
He looked left, past Jean and to the house that sat just past the sidewalk, before speaking again.
“And I don’t think I’d feel comfortable spending the night here.” Jean gave no reaction; she merely took a deep breath before following Michael, who had already stepped out of the car and rounded it to wait for her by the sidewalk.
Together, they made their way to the door, and without pausing, Michael rang the doorbell.
No response came from inside, so he rang again and again.
Michael rang for the fourth time before a small thud came from inside, and then came the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
As the sound grew louder, so did Jean’s heart until the door flung open and Jean stood face to face with her Aunt Margaret.
* * * * * Despite all that Jean had been through after her parents’ death, Jean never once blamed her aunt Margaret.
She hated her for keeping quiet.
She hated her for being too weak to stand up to her husband and have him reported or arrested.
The best Aunt Margaret could ever do when it was Jean on the receiving end of her husband’s drunken rage was to plead with him in tears, and then she would take over and become the one receiving the beatings, until Pete decided he’d had enough and stormed out to drink and gamble some more.
Jean hated her aunt for marrying someone like Pete, and she hated her even more for still staying with him after everything, but she never for once blamed the woman for anything.
In fact, Jean pitied Aunt Margaret, and looking at her aunt now, a huge, faded scar running from her right ear down to her collarbone, Jean’s stomach tightened.
Aunt Margaret’s gaze moved from Michael and then finally landed on Jean, and her eyes widened.
“J…” She took a careful step forward, and Jean noticed how it looked like she was limping to avoid putting much pressure on her right leg.
Aunt Margaret finally stood in front of her niece, and she lifted both hands until she was carefully touching Jean’s cheeks.
“Is… Is it really you, Jean?” She whispered, tears gathering in her eyes.
Unable to speak and overwhelmed with pity, regret, and anger, Jean nodded as tears gathered in her own eyes before embracing her Aunt in a tight hug.
“Oh, my dear girl, I am so happy to see that you’re alive.”Aunt Margaret managed to say as she continued to sob into Jean’s shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re still alive, Aunt,” Jean responded, softly patting her aunt’s back.