Sam
The older girl with the tattoo looks around the circle. "So what do we do now? Just... keep meeting?"
"Yeah," I say. "If you want to. Once a week. Here at the shop. We can talk. Or not talk. Whatever we need."
"And it's just us?" Leah asks. "No counselors or social workers or anything?"
"Just us," I say. "Unless you want to bring someone. But this is our space. We decide what happens here."
The blonde girl looks at me. "What's your name?"
"Sam," I say.
"I'm Claire," she says.
"Hi, Claire," I say.
She almost smiles. Almost.
We sit in silence for a moment.
Then the older girl speaks.
"I'm Vanessa," she says. "And I was trafficked for two years before they found me. I've been to therapy. I've been to support groups. And none of it helped. Because no one understood."
She looks
