Page 32 of Grayson

Finley waited until Jennifer’s breathing steadied.

“How did you remain hidden for so long?” Jennifer glanced at the women surrounding her and gave a tired, crooked smile.

“I pretended to be a nun.” For one startled second no one spoke. Then Casey blinked.

“An actual nun?”

“A very unofficial one. Sister Irene.” Brooke leaned forward.

“Please tell me you had the whole outfit.”

“Habit, veil, sensible shoes.” Harlow pressed a hand to her chest.

“Jennifer Sculler in sensible shoes may be the least believable part of this story.”

The disguise had begun as a desperate improvisation. The nuns who had rescued her offered a place to heal. Later it became more. A borrowed habit, forged travel papers, and enough knowledge of prayers to pass casual scrutiny.

Later it became an identity that opened doors to convent kitchens, rural clinics, and church-run shelters where traffickers rarely expected anyone to question them.

Under that borrowed veil, Jennifer had carried messages between advocates, helped young women reach safe transportation, and documented names, license plates, and bank transfers.

She never claimed vows she had not taken; she simply allowed dangerous men to see what they expected and overlook the woman working against them.

Harlow gave a breathless laugh.

“You spent six years fighting traffickers dressed as a nun?” Jennifer’s smile softened.

“Not all six. I did finish college during all of this. Sometimes I was a nurse, a translator, or a widow.”

“A widow?” Chelsea asked.

“It discouraged questions.” Casey shook her head.

“I have known you for almost twenty years of my life, and apparently I have never known you at all.”

“You knew the important parts,” Jennifer said. Finley raised an eyebrow.

“And the nun?”

“She was the only one who never got asked to dance.” Brooke lifted her water glass.

“To sensible shoes and unanswered invitations.”

The laughter that followed was careful at first, then real. It did not erase the attack or the years apart. It made space beside them for relief, and Jennifer felt something inside her loosen.

She looked again toward the men working in the corner.

“There’s one more thing,” she said. “I have loved Grayson Michaels for years. Through every false name and every night I thought I might not come back, that never changed.

“We’re getting married,” she announced, “and I need help planning this wedding.” They all knew they were going to get married. They’d heard the news and they were thrilled but they needed to let Jennifer say it out loud.

Violet made a sound halfway between a sob and a cheer.

“My son finally got something right.”

“When?” demanded Erica.

“What are you wearing?” Finley added. Casey held up both hands.