The fire is over. This is what's left.
In the aftermath of trauma, there are stories no one tells-moments that slip between journal entries, court transcripts, and shattered photo frames. Ashes is a raw, unflinching collection of those moments.
Told in short, searing vignettes, this companion to When There Was Colton and Smoke and Mirrors reveals the quiet violence of gaslighting, the soft ache of survival, and the haunting tenderness found in places you weren't supposed to live through. These aren't the stories that made headlines or court filings. These are the memories that settled into your skin. The ones you whispered into pillows. The ones you tried to forget.
From the bathtub where she hid from his rage to the courtroom where she was silenced, Ashes chronicles what happens when love becomes control, and when walking away costs everything-including the children you swore you'd never leave behind.
But even in loss, there is power. Even in silence, there is truth.
Because sometimes survival doesn't look like victory.
Sometimes, it just looks like you-still breathing, still standing,
with nothing left but ashes and your own name.