“He has the police report,” Cassie assured her.

“I … I don’t know that I can do this.” Maureen started to shake again, even worse than before. “Lonny doesn’t mean to hurt me … he can’t help himself. He has a temper, you see, and it gets away from him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He can’t help himself.”

“Maureen, we’ve been through this. It isn’t your fault that your husband hits you. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Cassie recognized the thought process: If only she’d been a better wife, a better housekeeper, a better mother, then Duke wouldn’t be upset. It was her failings that brought on the abuse. Only later, with counseling and patience, did she accept that the blame wasn’t hers. She had done nothing to deserve the beatings Duke gave her.

“But …”

“I was married to a man who beat me,” Cassie reminded her. “I thought it was my fault, too. If only I hadn’t put mustard instead of mayo on his ham sandwich he wouldn’t have hit me. I should have remembered. How could I have been so stupid? Maureen, think about it. Would you pound your fist into your daughter’s face for something like that?”

“No, never … I’d never hit one of my children.”

“I didn’t deserve it, either, and neither did you.”

Maureen stared up at her with wide, blank eyes. At one time Cassie’s eyes had had that same hollowed, hopeless look.

“I’ll be right here,” she promised the other woman. “I’m not going to leave you. Once we’re finished I’ll take you back to the shelter.”

Maureen gripped her hands together in a hold so tight her fingers went white. “I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Cassie assured her and gave her thin body a gentle squeeze. “Think of your children.”

Maureen briefly closed her eyes and nodded.

“Lonny is going to jail, if there is any justice,” Cassie assured her.

“But what will I do then?”

“The shelter will help you get a job and find housing.” Cassie had already been through this with Maureen a number of times, but the fragile soul needed to hear it again.

“The paperwork …”

“I’ll help you fill out the forms, Maureen.”

Cassie understood the other woman’s fears. As easy as it might sound to others, little things like obtaining a driver’s license or completing a job application seemed overwhelming. Duke had refused to allow Cassie to drive. It became a control issue with him. If she had access to a car she might leave him. When they’d married she’d had a license, but it had long since expired and was from a different state. Moving her away from family and friends had been one of the first things he’d done, taking her from Spokane all the way to Florida, where there were supposed to be good jobs. The job had never materialized, but he’d succeeded in getting her far from family, friends, and all that was familiar.

To anyone who hadn’t been the victim of domestic violence, the hesitation to testify, to put the aggressor behind bars, was incomprehensible. Only those who’d walked through this madness understood what courage it took, what fortitude and pure nerve were required to stand up in court and admit what they had endured.

When Maureen was called to the witness stand, Cassie held her breath. She slid to the very edge of the hard wooden seat as the young mother reluctantly stood.

“Don’t look at Lonny,” Cassie advised, giving the other woman’s hand a gentle squeeze as she scooted past. “If you need to, focus on me instead.”

Maureen was deathly pale and her nod was barely noticeable. Her walk from the back of the courtroom all the way to the witness stand seemed to take thirty minutes. Thankfully, she followed Cassie’s advice and kept her gaze lowered, refusing to look in the vicinity of her husband.

Twice the judge had to ask Maureen to speak up in order for her to be heard.

Cassie wanted to cheer when Maureen squared her shoulders as resolve came to her. She looked directly at the judge and said clearly, “Please don’t let him hurt me again.” With that, she stood and started to leave the witness stand.

Lonny roared to his feet and started toward her. Maureen screamed and two deputies rushed forward, restraining Maureen’s husband while he blurted out profanities and threats.

The judge’s gavel pounded like shotgun blasts through the courtroom, the sounds sharp and discordant. “Order,” he demanded. “Order in the court.”

Maureen fled to where Cassie waited. Cassie immediately wrapped her arms around the other woman and led her out of the courtroom. She’d testified and nothing more was required of her. Cassie was certain Lonny’s outburst hadn’t done him any favors in the judge’s eyes. The prosecuting attorney would touch base with Cassie later in the day after he’d spoken to Maureen. The case was rock-solid and there was no reason to believe Lonny would escape jail time.

Part of Cassie’s work as a victim advocate was to provide transportation for Maureen to the courthouse and back to the women’s shelter where Maureen and her two children were currently housed. She helped the shaking Maureen across the parking lot.

At this point all Cassie’s work was on a volunteer basis. She’d taken the formal training, and one day, God willing, she’d have the chance to go to college for a degree in social work with a minor in criminal law. That, for now, was a pipe dream.

Maureen didn’t speak until they were in Cassie’s car. Once her seat belt was in place, she released a stuttering sigh as if only now was she able to breathe.

“You did it,” Cassie said, praising her.

“Yes. The worst is over.”

Cassie didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was only the beginning. When someone had been beaten down for years, making even the simplest decision seemed paralyzing. Maureen and her children would need counseling and hand-holding. Fortunately, Maureen was already in a support group. In an effort to lend encouragement and guidance, Cassie had sat with her for a couple sessions. Maureen had listened without speaking, although she’d nodded a couple times. Lacey Wilson, who facilitated the group, did an excellent job of steering the conversation. The women who attended were at different stages of the healing process.

They drove to the shelter, and Cassie walked Maureen inside. She glanced at her watch and saw that she was already late for work. Maureen seemed reluctant to let her go. “Will I see you this evening?” she asked, following Cassie back to the door.

Cassie knew Maureen needed her, but she would be doing the other woman a disservice if she allowed her to become too dependent. Maureen blocked the entrance to the shelter, her look imploring Cassie to stay with her.

“I’ll be back later,” Cassie assured her.

“You promise?”

How needy she sounded, uncertain and afraid, looking at Cassie with wide eyes, full of fear, fear of the unknown, fear of the future. Cassie knew about that, too. Leaving Duke had required grit and raw courage, but everything afterward had as well.

“You promise,” Maureen repeated.

“I promise, but for now I need to get to work.” Cassie had a job, one that supported her and Amiee. She worked as a hairstylist at a local salon in a quaint community in the south end of Seattle known as Kent. The shelter had supported her while she got the training she needed, and in exchange she’d worked at the shelter, cleaning and cooking. It’d taken her five years following her divorce to crawl out of the black hole that had become her life while married to Duke. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen or heard from Duke since that fateful day when she’d testified against him in a Florida courtroom.

By the time Cassie arrived at work, every chair at Goldie Locks was filled, with the exception of Cassie’s. Working as an independent contractor, Cassie paid Teresa Sanchez, the shop owner, a rental fee for the hair station. This meant she was responsible for paying for her own products, setting her own schedule, building up a clientele, and, probably the most difficult, setting aside money each quarter to pay the state business tax and her federal income tax.

“Mrs. Belcher is here for her haircut,” Rosie, the receptionist, mentioned as Cassie reached for her protective top. She zipped it into place and grabbed a banana off the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. That would have to do for lunch. The hearing had taken more time than she’d expected.