The biting chill of the bathroom air clung to my skin, a stark contrast to the steaming water that moments ago had threatened to claim my life. I coughed, a ragged, wet sound, as Mary’s gentle voice urged me to expel the remaining water from my lungs. I was alive, miraculously, yet the ghost of Trent’s hazel eyes, so furious and cold, still swam before mine.

My chest ached with every shallow breath, a painful reminder of how close I’d come. Mary, ever the quiet enabler, pushed a bucket closer, her usual composure laced with a rare, fleeting concern. “You stupid, stupid child,” she murmured, her hand pinching my cheek in a familiar gesture before the heavy footfalls outside the door announced Trent’s return.

His anger preceded him, a suffocating wave that filled the small space. I squeezed my eyes shut, repeating the mantra of my pathetic weakness, willing myself not to lunge, not to show the fire blazing behind my eyelids. He had crossed a line, one he’d never dared before. And now, I was back in the clutches of the very monster who saved me, and from whom I desperately needed to escape.