Chapter 2: Mute, Broken, and Bought

From the moment he sold me to Magnolia House, I knew this day was coming. It was just a matter of time. Every night, I waited for the other shoe to drop—for the next demand, the next humiliation. Sometimes I wished it would just end.

But even knowing, when my clothes were ripped away, the tears still fell. I bit my lip, trying to choke back the sobs, but they came anyway—hot and silent.

Before all this, before everything went wrong, my father was the local high school English teacher. The kind of guy who read poetry at dinner and believed every kid deserved a shot at something better.

He named me Jamie Lane, hoping I’d remember the kindness of family and the lessons of teachers. Lane, just like the street we lived on, just like the path he wanted me to follow.

He’d always say I was smart, that I’d ace my SATs and get into an Ivy League. He’d ruffle my hair and wink, telling me the world was mine if I kept working hard.

Whenever Mom heard that, she’d laugh and tease, "If my son goes to Harvard, with your smarts and that face of yours, I’m afraid the girls in town will fight over you!" She’d crack up, the sound filling our tiny kitchen. I’d roll my eyes, but it always made me smile.

Back then, our little house was peaceful. The kind of peace that wraps around you like an old quilt, warm and safe and a little worn at the edges.

I’d study and write essays by the window, and when I cracked it open, I could hear Dad’s booming voice teaching his students out back. The air smelled like grass and chalk, and it made me feel like I belonged somewhere.

Mom would sit under the old maple tree, sewing and patching my shirts. Her fingers flying, humming old tunes that drifted up with the wind. Sometimes I’d hum along, just to make her laugh.

It was a perfect spring—sunlight through the leaves, birds outside, a breeze carrying the scent of fresh-cut grass. Everything felt soft and easy, like nothing bad could ever happen.

At the time, it all felt so ordinary. I had no idea how lucky I was, how fast it could all disappear. I wish I’d known.

Then, out of nowhere, Dad got accused of keeping banned books. The news dropped like the bottom fell out of our world.

Arrest. Jail. Our house seized. It all happened in a blur. Neighbors stopped waving. Teachers stopped smiling. Overnight, we became invisible.

Dad wouldn’t confess and got beaten nearly to death in the county jail. I never really saw him again—not the real him. The man who came home was a ghost, broken and silent.

Mom tried to clear his name, but she ended up smashing her head against the courthouse steps. She died right there. They called it an accident, but everyone knew better. I still hear the sound sometimes.

Before she died, her bloody hand gripped mine tight. Her eyes were wild, desperate, begging me to hang on. I’ll never forget how hard she held me.

"Jamie, live, you have to live well!" she said. She said it like it was the only thing that mattered.

Her hand was cold, but her blood was hot. It soaked into my skin—sticky, bright. No matter how hard I tried, I could never wash it away.

That feeling stuck to me. The more I scrubbed, the more it burned, until my hands were raw. I tried everything, but the guilt wouldn’t fade.

But it still burned in my chest. Every heartbeat reminded me of what I’d lost, of the promises I couldn’t keep. Sometimes I wondered if I ever would.

After that, the charges stuck, Dad was executed, and I got sold through a broker to the Lane family. I was nothing but a line on a receipt, a problem to be traded away. That’s all I was.

They saw I could read and write, so they kept me as the young master Ethan Lane’s personal attendant. It wasn’t freedom, but at least I was breathing.

When we were young, Ethan was clever—every gesture felt like the heroes my dad used to talk about. He made me believe in second chances, made me think maybe kindness wasn’t dead after all.

He saw me always frowning and pulled me aside, looking serious: "Jamie, hang in there a little longer. In a few years, when I get into college, I’ll help clear your family’s name."

I wanted to believe him. The sincerity in his voice made me let go of some of my anger. For a while, hope felt possible again.

I settled in at the Lane family, treating Ethan as my young master. I learned to anticipate his needs. I learned when to disappear, when to blend into the background, when to be exactly what he wanted. It became second nature.

I worried about his health more than his own mom did, stressed over his grades more than his dad. He was all I had. The only thing keeping me afloat.

He knew it, too. He wore my faith like a favorite jacket, letting it drive him harder than any parent ever could.

So he doubled down—studied even harder, wanting to clear my family’s name as soon as possible. Every test, every paper, was another step closer for both of us.

But then, at seventeen, Ethan got dragged to a wild riverboat party. The kind of party where secrets changed hands like poker chips, and innocence never lasted past midnight. I should’ve known nothing good would come of it.

Everything shifted after that. The way he looked at me changed. No more just sympathy or pity. There was hunger in his eyes. The way he looked at me and the girls at the party—no difference anymore.

When I sharpened pencils for him, he stared at my pale fingers. His throat bobbed, then he grabbed me. The air between us got thick, electric, with something I didn’t know how to name.

"Jamie’s all grown up—even your hands are tempting." His voice was rough, and I could hear the longing in it. I froze, too scared to move.

I stared at him, panic rising. I tried to pull away, but he yanked me into his arms. His grip was like steel, his breath hot on my cheek. I wanted to disappear.

"Don’t be scared, I’ll take care of you." The words were supposed to comfort me, but they sounded more like a warning. My stomach twisted.

"Be good, don’t move, let me touch you." His hands were everywhere, greedy and pushy, not giving me a chance to breathe.

I didn’t want this. I respected Ethan, admired him, saw him as my only hope. I didn’t get romance, but I knew once something changed, it never went back. I tried to pull away, but he held on tighter.

He gripped my collar, eyes wild and burning. Seeing me fight, he barked my name.

"Jamie!"

His voice was loud, almost desperate, and it made me freeze. The sound echoed in my ears, drowning out the rest of the world. I just shut down.