Free The Good Daughter by Jean Brashear Page A

at the Women’s Shelter’s frayed blue carpet, eyes unblinking. Chloe knew scenes of horror played on the carpet as if on a movie screen; Danielle was so very close to opening up. Chloe felt like holding her breath, all too conscious of how important this stage was.
    Danielle was a prostitute who’d sought refuge at the shelter from her pimp. As with many prostitutes, she’d likely been sexually abused as a child. When Danielle let loose the protection denial afforded her, the pain would be brutal. It had to happen, but both she and Danielle would have to go through hell to get to the other side, where healing was possible. It was the hardest part but the most essential.
    “Who hurt you, Danielle?” She saw the woman recoil as if struck by an unseen blow.
    Danielle’s head shook violently. “No one hurt me.”
    “Who touched you?”
    Danielle’s body shrank away from the memories Chloe could see crowding in on her. “Nobod—” She choked on the word. A tear leaked from her right eye.
    Chloe reached out, sliding her hands under Danielle’s, holding lightly. “He can’t hurt you now. I’m here withyou. You can’t shock me. I won’t be disgusted.” Pressing her advantage, she continued. “I understand.”
    Danielle’s head snapped up. “You bitch—” She jerked away, but Chloe wouldn’t release her. “Someone like you can’t know what it was like, having them touch me, having their hands, their—” A sob broke free.
    Then her hands tightened, squeezing Chloe’s fingers in a vise. Chloe ignored the pain, concentrating on the woman before her.
    Danielle began to rock, moaning softly. A keening erupted into a near scream. “I hate him.” Her eyes flashed pure venom. “I want to kill him for what he did to me—it hurt, it hurt so bad—” Anguish shattered her frame. She dropped Chloe’s hands and bent double, burying her head against her legs, hands gripping white knuckled at the back of her neck.
    Chloe could barely hear her muffled voice. She slipped to her knees in front of Danielle and rubbed her hands over Danielle’s back in long, soothing strokes, cradling the woman’s head against her chest. “Tell me,” she urged. “Release it.”
    Danielle uttered words of such horror, a child’s sobs of terror, lost in a world gone evil and frightening. Chloe’s heart ached, her gorge rose. She thought she could have killed the man herself if he’d been in the room.
    But it wasn’t her revenge to take. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. The body beneath her hands was wire tight and shivering.
    “It wasn’t your fault.”
    The woman shuddered. Her voice barely camethrough. “He said I was too sexy, that he couldn’t help himself.”
    “He was lying. He was an adult. You were a child. You did nothing wrong.”
    Danielle jerked upward, her body shaking, eyes crazed with pain. “Then why did it happen?” She went on, voice rising in anger. “Why me? Why didn’t anyone stop him? How could he say it was my fault if it wasn’t?”
    She glanced toward the floor, and Chloe’s relief at escaping those eyes shamed her.
    “I wanted to be grown up,” Danielle whispered. “I always did, even when I was very little. I couldn’t wait to be big.” Her gaze rose to Chloe’s, eyes shifting rapidly, side to side. “If I’d stayed a little girl, he would have left me alone.”
    “No.” Chloe’s voice strengthened. She grasped Danielle’s shoulders. “He didn’t want a woman. He wanted a little girl.”
    “He’s sick,” Danielle shouted.
    Chloe wanted to close her eyes in relief, but she didn’t. “Yes.” She nodded. “He is. He is, Danielle—not you. You did nothing to bring it on. He’s the one who’s to blame. You couldn’t have stopped him.” Seeing the woman’s doubts, Chloe persisted. “There was nothing you could do to prevent it. Nothing.”
    Danielle wavered on the brink of trusting. Finally, she swallowed deeply and spoke. “Are you so sure?”
    Chloe placed one