Maya nodded. For two years, she had been a ghost in her own life. After the assault, she’d filed a report, sat through a trial that felt more like an invasion than a justice, and lost her job, her apartment, and nearly her sanity to the fallout. She had survived, but survival, she learned, was a silent, lonely verb.

For a moment, there was only the hum of the lights. Then Chen stood up. “Thank you, Maya. That was… that was a brick and a half.”

Then she saw the poster at the laundromat. The Voices Project: Your story is the spark. It was an awareness campaign unlike the others. No statistics in stark fonts. No generic silhouettes. Just a single, blurred photo of a woman laughing, and an invitation: Record your truth. Anonymously. We will only listen when you are ready.