Chapter 3: Evidence and Betrayal

I opened a cabinet and took out a USB drive.

I kept it hidden behind a stack of old tax returns, next to a faded photo of my parents’ wedding. The USB was plain—just like any you’d buy at Walmart.

I said, “These are videos of you being hurt. You put hidden cameras in their houses, recording everything—swore you’d make every one of them pay.”

I set the drive on the table, hands shaking. “You wanted proof. You wanted to remember, and you wanted justice—your way. It’s all here, Aubrey. Everything they did, every person who hurt you.”

Aubrey hugged the diary, lost in despair, whispering, “There’s only one left—the old bachelor with the limp.”

Her voice barely carried, her body curled around the diary. She stared at the wall, trying to find the strength for one more fight.

I sighed.

My breath rattled out, the weight of everything pressing on my chest. The room felt heavy with secrets.

I used to think this was a road with no way out.

For years, I told myself there was no escape. This town was too tight, people too loyal or too scared. But Aubrey’s stubbornness made me question everything.

But she was about to pull it off.

Against all odds, she’d almost gotten all the evidence she needed. The finish line was right there, and for the first time, I started to hope she might actually win.

I took the diary from her, trying to sound casual: “Stop crying. If you cry yourself to sleep, you’ll forget it all, and then tomorrow you’ll read the diary again and it’ll tear you up inside every time you see it fresh.”

I tried to smile, to give her some comfort, even though my own heart felt like it was splitting in two. “Rest now, Aubrey. Let your heart heal, even just for a night.”

She asked, “Why’d you help me keep the evidence and the diary? If they find out, you’ll be killed. I looked through the diary and couldn’t find your reason.”

Her voice was soft, searching. She looked at me like I was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

I didn’t answer.

I just looked away, picking at the corner of my shirt. Some things are too dangerous to say out loud, especially in a place like this.

Of course I knew—one act of kindness could destroy me.

I remembered letting her into my shop after dark, scared someone would see. I remembered the whispers, the side-eye, the cold shoulders. I did it anyway. Some debts can’t be ignored.

Maybe it was the day I tattooed the phoenix—her look of pure determination was so beautiful, I wanted to see if she could really rise from the ashes.

Her eyes glowed with hope and fury. For one perfect second, I saw not a broken girl but a fighter. I wanted to see her win, just once.

She was the town’s outcast, but she had the purest soul I’d ever known.

The gossips at the diner, the boys at the gas station—they thought they knew her story, her worth. But they never saw past the surface.

Aubrey saw I didn’t answer. She wiped her tears and said, serious as ever, “I’m going to buy the last camera. If I finally pull it off, I’ll pay you back.”

She stood up, shaky but determined, her jaw set. For the first time in days, a spark of hope shone in her eyes.

I wanted to say, you don’t owe me anything. I’ve already met the girl most worthy of a phoenix tattoo in this world.

But I couldn’t say it. I just told her, “I wish you luck.”

My voice was rough, but I meant it. I hoped she heard everything I couldn’t say.