23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

C andy

My heart is jackhammering in my chest despite the picturesque setting. Here I am on the back porch of an Airbnb in the middle of nowhere, Texas, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting a warm glow on the quaint outdoor deck. There's a heavenly scent drifting to me when the breeze shifts, yet my palms are slick with sweat.

Courage squeezes my hand, his touch grounding me. "You've got this, rock star." His blue eyes are fierce with conviction. "I'm right here with you."

I nod, drawing strength from his unwavering support. We've grown so close these past few weeks, our bond deepening with every mile, every kiss, every whispered confession in the dark. He's become my safe harbor, and yes, my anchor in the storm.

I spot Eleanor across the deck, deep in conversation with the interviewer, a statuesque brunette with kind eyes and a gentle smile. As if sensing my gaze, Eleanor looks up, giving me a brisk nod of encouragement.

"Candy, hello." The interviewer approaches, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "I'm Elizabeth Carlisle, but please, call me Liz. It's an honor to meet you."

"Likewise," I manage, shaking her hand and hoping she doesn't notice the tremor in my fingers. "Thank you for giving me this platform, for helping me tell my story."

"Of course." Her expression softens with understanding. "What you're doing today… it's incredibly brave. I want you to know this is a safe space. You're in control here."

I swallow hard, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. Control. I've had so little of it in my life, my choices and my voice stripped away by those who sought to use me for their own gain.

But not anymore. Today, I take it back. Today, I speak my truth.

Liz leads me to a sturdy willow chair, the seat covered with a thick floral pad. The cameras and microphones are already set up and waiting. Courage gives my hand one last squeeze before stepping back, a silent promise in his eyes— I've got you .

"Alright, Candy." Liz settles into the chair across from me. "Whenever you're ready. Tell your story in the way you want. I'll chime in with questions at some point."

I take a deep breath, the words I've kept locked away for so long rising in my throat. And then, I speak.

I tell them everything. The grooming, the manipulation, the insidious erosion of my sense of self. Raskins, Jones, Villanueva—I name the men who preyed on my innocence, who made me feel like an object to be used and discarded. I don't gloss over Maxwell Blackwell, the CEO. He wasn't a perpetrator, but he had to know at least the broad strokes of what went on, and he never intervened as long as the money kept flowing in.

I talk about the groping, the lewd comments, the constant fear that one wrong move would end my career, plunging my family into poverty since my income supported us all. In detail, I describe how they tore me down, made me question my own worth until I hardly recognized the girl in the mirror.

The words pour out in a torrent, years of pent-up pain and anger and shame spilling onto the sunlit deck. Liz listens intently, her eyes shining with empathy and a righteous fury that mirrors my own.

"Candy," she says softly, during a lull in my story, "I want to make something very clear. What happened to you… it was abuse. Full stop. The fact that they didn't physically force you into intercourse doesn't negate the harm they inflicted, the power they wielded over you."

I stare at her, my breath catching in my throat. It's a truth I've always known, deep down, but hearing it spoken aloud, validated by another… it cracks something open inside me, a fissure in the dam I've built around my heart.

"I…" My voice wobbles, tears blurring my vision. "I always told myself it could've been worse. That at least I wasn't…" I can't say the word, can't give shape to the horror that haunts so many of my fellow survivors.

I've spent half my lifetime minimizing what happened to me and now another human being is telling me my pain is real. It matters. My heartbreak wasn't exaggerated.

"Honey." Liz reaches out, clasping my hand in hers. "Don't you see? They didn't have to go that far to break you. The abuse started the moment they looked at a child and saw something to exploit, to manipulate, for their own gain and gratification."

A sob rises in my chest, a lifetime of unacknowledged pain clawing at my throat. I cover my mouth, trying to hold it back, but it's too much, too big. The tears come in a hot rush, the walls I've so carefully constructed crumbling to dust.

Distantly, I hear Liz call for a break, feel the warmth of Courage's arms around me as he pulls me to his chest. But I'm lost in the flood, the crush of half-forgotten memories and suppressed emotions thundering through my veins.

"I've got you," Courage murmurs against my temple, his voice cutting through the static in my head. "Let it out, baby. I'm right here."

And I do. I cry for the little girl who learned too young that her body wasn't her own. For the teenager who traded her innocence for a shot at her dreams. For the woman who's spent so long running from her past, she almost forgot how to stand still.

But I also cry for the survivor. For the fighter who refused to let them win, who clawed her way out of the darkness and into the light. For the voice that even now rises in rebellion, in defiance of a system that sought to silence her.

When the tears finally slow, when I can draw a full breath without shaking, I pull back just enough to meet Courage's gaze. His eyes are wet, his jaw clenched as he controls his own emotions in order to support me.

"I am so damn proud of you." His voice is raw, fierce. "You are strong, brave. You're the most incredible woman I've ever known, Candy Wood."

After giving him a watery smile, I lean up to press my forehead against his. I want to argue, to tell him I don't feel strong or brave right now. But that's the point, right? Feel the fear and do it anyway.

He kisses me, soft and sweet and achingly tender. A promise, a declaration, a vow. In this moment, I am invincible. Untouchable. Whole.

We stay like that for a long moment, breathing each other in, until Liz gently clears her throat. "Candy? Are you ready to continue?"

"Maybe I should go wash my face and touch up my makeup. I must look terrible." Just as I'm about to go into the house, Liz puts a gentle hand on my arm.

"You do look a mess. You look real . Your emotions just now were raw, authentic. Every person who has experienced abuse will relate to you. Those of us who want to make changes will fight for you. We recorded everything, but you get the final say in what we release. Frankly, I'd like to keep every heartfelt, honest moment."

I straighten, squaring my shoulders as I turn to face the cameras once more. "Yes," I say, my voice steady and sure. "Let's finish this."

The rest of the interview passes in a blur. I answer Liz's questions with raw honesty, a savage grace that leaves me feeling clean, new skin growing over old wounds. By the end, I am empty in the best possible way, a vessel purged of poison, ready to be filled with light.

When the cameras stop rolling, when Liz enfolds me in a fierce hug and Eleanor gives me a nod of solemn respect, a surge of something bright and buoyant bursts in my chest. Not quite peace, not yet.

But something close. Something like hope.

Courage takes my hand as we walk to the van, his palm warm and solid against mine. "Ready to face the world, rock star?" There's a glint of pride shining in his eyes.

I think of the little girl I used to be, the woman I've become, the warrior I've always been. And I smile, wide and true and glorious .

"Damn straight," I tell him. "Bring it on."