Jada Egerton parked her car beside her trailer. Her day’s work done as Admissions Assistant at Madison Area Technical College. A huge step-up from my previous job. She shuddered at the memory. That was a decade and a half ago.
Jada lived in a tiny travel trailer across town from her estranged husband, John Paul. A compact twelve feet by seven feet 1996 travel trailer to be exact. A twentieth the size of the home she shared with ‘JP.’ She always called him by his initials. It was her decision to leave.
Jada had just turned 34. Her relationship with JP had stalled. He hinted at getting divorced. He couldn’t tolerate her moodiness. Or understand why she acted repulsed around him. How she wished she could forget her past. Pour it down the drain like sour milk. You can’t erase your past that way. Oh, how she wished she could.
She often accused JP of working too much. Of neglecting their relationship. To a casual observer, you’d think Jada was arming JP with reasons to leave her. Why on earth did I leave him? What am I trying to prove? To whom—and why?
* * *
I can’t go on like this, she thought. Why should I be the one living in such a tiny space? I never gave him any backtalk. I thought we were both content. What’s his fascination with wanting kids? He’d never see them. He’s always working.
Guilt overcame her. She wept. She’d never told JP of her teenage years. The shame of it. It being her first job out of high school. She hated her father and blamed him. His gambling and poker nights. That’s why she worked as a stripper. A damn pole dancer, for God’s sake!
Her father said he needed Jada’s tips. Crumpled up five dollar bills that had been stuffed inside her panty waistband. Her father was deep in gambling debt. His drinking habit didn’t help.
Her father told Jada how blessed he was to have such a good looking daughter. Blessed with long blonde hair and innocent baby blue eyes. Jada was also ‘blessed’ with a figure that turned heads. And made her father a fortune by forcing her to turn tricks on the side.
Jada’s mother was of no help. Her mother was just as much under her father’s irate and demanding thumb as she was.
* * *
Fifteen years had passed.
The empty feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away. It was like a festering sore. If she didn’t give it the attention it deserved, it would eat her alive.
She knew she had to come clean.
She knew she had to get help.
She had to talk to John Paul before it was too late.
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