IMOGEN'S POV
The motel room was dim, the lightbulb above flickering weakly. It smelled of dust and cheap detergent, the floral curtains swaying gently from the weak air seeping in through the cracked windowpane. I sat on the bed, my legs folded beneath me, the thin blanket pooling at my waist.
For the first time since this all began, doubt settled in my bones.
Was this really the right way? Was this how I was supposed to fight back?
I had always known that my name would be dragged through the mud. That didn't bother me. It never did. The whispers, the insults, the labels they threw at women like me—it was expected. I had accepted that long before I walked into that courtroom.
But I hadn't planned on dragging everyone else with me.
My mother. My father.
I could already hear what the world would say about them.
