Benedict Belmont III looked out at the sea of women before him, and his heart ached.

Some of them still sported fresh cuts and bruises, while many others wore their trauma under the surface.

But they were here.

They were alive.

And one by one, Benedict would do whatever he could to see them thrive, like he should

have done for his mother.

He smiled as he heaved a portion of mashed potatoes onto a plate.

Hello, Ethel.

How are you today?

Just lovely, Benny boy, thank you.

Benedict shook his head.

But the smile didn't leave his face.

If anyone had dared call his father that, they would have been bashed in the nose.

But Benedict III liked the endearment. It was a reminder of how different he was from his father. Besides, he felt like he'd earned it. It took a long time for some of these women to

trust men again, and he was honored to be one of the first ones they opened up to after their horrific experiences.

Enjoy your meal, Ethel.

I plan to, Benny.

Tell that gorgeous wife of yours I say hello.

Benedict nodded.

We'll do.

Francis had only accompanied Benedict to the women's home a few times,

but she left quite an impression.

...