And for the first time that night, I began to believe I might actually get away.
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
I had asked Camille to call them.
Making that decision terrified me.
Brandon had always warned me that involving outsiders would only make things worse.
He said police officers wouldn’t believe me.
That judges favored successful men.
That his connections could ruin my life.
But Camille stayed beside me while I explained what had happened.
A female officer named Renee Wallace listened carefully.
She asked about the marks on my wrist.
The previous incidents.
Whether Brandon had threatened me.
Whether he had access to weapons.
Whether I believed he’d come looking for me again.
I answered as honestly as I could.
Some questions made me shake.
Others made me cry.
The officer explained my options for seeking protection and documenting the abuse. She also gave me information about domestic violence services that could help with shelter, legal advice, and safety planning.
When she asked where I planned to stay, I looked helplessly toward Camille.
“I have a sister,” I admitted. “But we haven’t spoken in a long time.”
“Would you like to call her?” Camille asked.
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
My phone was still in my purse.
Fortunately, Brandon hadn’t taken it that evening.
Jasmine’s number was saved near the bottom of my contacts.
I stared at it for several seconds.
Then pressed call.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
“Hello?”
Her voice nearly broke me.
“Jasmine?”
Silence.
Then—
“Hannah?”
I covered my mouth.
“It’s me.”
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
I started crying.
I couldn’t stop.
Jasmine’s voice changed immediately.
“Where are you? Tell me where you are.”
“I’m safe.”
“Hannah, what happened?”
I tried to explain.
The anniversary dinner.
Brandon.
The office.
The stranger who protected me.
When I finished, Jasmine was crying too.
“I knew something was wrong,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
Her voice grew firm.
“Don’t apologize for calling me.”
I swallowed.
“Can I stay with you?”
“Hannah, you could have come here any day. You never needed permission.”
I bowed my head.
For months, Brandon had told me Jasmine didn’t want anything to do with me.
He’d shown me messages supposedly from her.
Cold messages.
Cruel messages.
Now I wondered whether those messages had ever been real.
Jasmine continued.
“I’ll come get you.”
Camille gently took the phone and gave her the restaurant’s address.
The officer helped us discuss a safe pickup plan, and Camille offered to remain with me until Jasmine arrived.
When I hung up, I looked toward the window.
Damien stood outside the office speaking quietly to one of his security men.
He turned when he noticed me watching.
Our eyes met.
Then he returned to his conversation.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, his restraint mattered more than his power.
He could have taken charge.
Ordered people around.
Declared himself my protector.
Instead, he was letting me make choices.
Something Brandon had never done.
