I placed his letter inside a secure drawer alongside my old medical files and a single photograph showing my face before the attack.
I kept those items not to dwell on the man who hurt me, but rather to measure how far I had traveled since that dark night.
On the tenth anniversary of the attack, we officially opened our first multi-story medical and legal center in downtown Columbus.
Dr. Pratt directed our state-of-the-art reconstructive surgery wing, Attorney Vance managed our team of civil rights lawyers, and my proud parents cut the ceremonial ribbon by my side.
Near the main entrance of the building, we engraved a simple message into the stone wall.
“We are not defined by what was brutally done to us, but rather by what we courageously choose to build afterward.”
That afternoon, a young woman featuring fresh healing scars along her neck stepped up to speak with me.
“Genevieve, does the emotional pain ever truly stop hurting inside?” the young woman asked softly.
I considered telling her a comforting lie, but I chose to offer her absolute honesty instead.
“The pain transforms over time,” I answered gently. “In the beginning, the trauma dictates every single step you take, but eventually the pain learns to sit quietly in a far corner of the room while you go out and build a beautiful life.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she listened to my words.
I felt warm tears fill my own eyes as well.
Late that evening, when I returned to my quiet apartment, I stood before the bathroom mirror and looked directly at my reflection without a single drop of makeup covering my skin.
Christian had desperately tried to melt my face so that I would remain completely dependent on his wealth.
He had systematically destroyed my fertility so that I would be forced to raise his secret child without complaint.
He had tried to turn my wounded body into a lifelong prison while using his money as the master key.
He failed completely on all three counts.
For five long years, I had lived my life completely obsessed with being chosen by a famous partner, by his demanding fans, and by the idealized version of myself displayed on glossy magazine covers.
