To Caroline’s surprise, Rona Stevens, whom she’d known since high school, attended a couple of meetings. Though she still had her varsity cheerleader looks, her posture had eroded to rounded shoulders, downcast eyes, and an attitude of defeat. She vacillated between breakups and makeups with Hakon, the school jock. And he was still awful. He didn’t hit her, Rona was quick to point out. Living with him was stressful, though. He controlled every aspect of her life, from how many calories she ate to the way she folded and stacked the bath towels. He had become a toxic, insidious voice in her head, convincing her she was worthless.

“He totally stalks me,” she’d confessed at her first meeting, saying they were on a break. “When we first moved in together, I thought it was sweet how he’d come home unexpectedly with flowers or a bottle of wine. After a while, I realized he was checking up on me. He checks the mileage on the odometer. He monitors my phone. He bugs me about the way I dress and wear my hair.” A look of exhaustion had swept over her face. “Sometimes I just want to be by myself, and he accuses me of not loving him. That might be the one thing he’s right about.”

She’d stared at her knees, seeming to shrink into herself. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Probably nothing.”

“This is something,” Virginia had softly pointed out.

After two meetings, Rona had gone back to him. The occurrence was all too common. Some women changed their minds, recanted their stories, and went back to their violent partners.

The failures only made Caroline and her sisters more determined than ever to sustain the group. There was no way to save them all, but Caroline had to believe change was possible. She had to believe the Sewing Circle was a lifeline for some of these women. The anniversary meeting was a chance for this reminder. They started off as they always did, with a reading of the mission statement and someone saying, “Shall we begin?”

“I came to this group after I’d hit the lowest point in my life,” said Amy. “I was climbing out of a hole so deep I thought I’d never see the light again. At first I didn’t want to talk about what had happened to me. Didn’t want to hear what happened to others. Now I can’t imagine life without this group. But I do have to imagine life without you guys.”

There was a palpable, collective held breath in the room.

“I’m moving away,” Amy said.

The collective breath turned into sighs of disappointment. “Is everything all right?” someone asked.

“Bolton is getting out of prison, but that’s not why I’m leaving,” Amy explained. “I’ve been training to be a long-haul trucker, and I just got a job. A legit job. Even though I’ll miss everyone, I couldn’t be happier.”

“We’ll miss you, too,” Echo said. “Change is good. If we all stayed the same all the time, we’d just be stuck, right?”

“That’s really cool, Amy,” said Nadine. “I’m getting better at setting boundaries. It’s made me a better mom, that’s for sure. My kids were getting rude and demanding—no surprise, given what they saw. I’ve changed and they’ve taken note. Most of the time, anyway.”

“I want to be brave again,” said Yvonne, a relative newcomer to the group. “I used to dare to do so much. I lost all that when I lost myself in a relationship with an abusive man, and I’m sick of being afraid. The truth is, I’m lonely. Like, really lonely. I quit trusting myself to know what love is supposed to be. But I do know. See, there’s a guy . . .” She looked down at her hands twisting in her lap. Then she seemed to realize what she was doing and lifted her head high. “He knows what I went through. He’s been super patient and understanding. I’m pretty sure I’ve loved him for a long time. I want to find the courage to tell him. What do you think?” She looked around the group. “Am I crazy?”

“What’s the worst thing that will happen if you tell this guy how you feel?” asked Georgia.

“He’ll say he doesn’t feel the same way about me, and then he’ll feel terrible and I’ll feel awkward, and—” She stopped. “Yeah, so the world won’t come to an end.”

“And what’s the best thing that could happen if you tell him?” asked Georgia.

The mechanical hum of industrial machines filled the air. After all the hard work and struggle, it was sweet music to Caroline’s ears—the sound of her garments being made. She was designing like never before—the stadium seat jacket. Another jacket that lit up in the dark. A smart signal jacket that responded to a cyclist’s hand signals. Everything the workshop produced was beautiful, because she supervised every stitch.

The barn had been transformed into a pleasant space that felt safe and productive. No one was getting rich, but sales were steady and the operation was at least solvent. There had been write-ups in the press and on fashion blogs. Following a successful outing at a trade show, they were shipping garments to indie boutiques every week, and she’d hired two trainees and an intern.

The Oysterville Sewing Circle offered more than she’d ever imagined, yielding surprising dividends—the mostly untapped talents of the women themselves. Sometimes it seemed like a kind of magic. If something needed doing, there was a good chance one of the women here could do it or knew someone who could. Echo was becoming a skilled patternmaker and sample sewer, and she had connected Caroline with laid-off workers from her former factory. Ilsa ran the website and was an expert at flawless, bright product shots. Economic survival was one of the most crucial elements for these women, and it was gratifying to be able to help. Caroline and her sisters had secured a grant to fund training and job programs throughout the county. A few other local businesses were now involved, and there was a pilot program at the high school.

One of her best moves had been bringing on Willow from the Sewing Circle. Caroline now had an LLC and a solid business plan, expertly crafted by Willow. C-Shell Rainwear was getting a reputation for garments that were ethically sourced and made with love and skill. One of the girls had machine-quilted a wall hanging with that message: Made with Love and Skill. It became the company motto and was proudly hung under the Justine figurehead.

Sometimes, when the work seemed overwhelming and the balance sheet looked totally unbalanced, Caroline would panic and call herself crazy for trying to make her enterprise work. Other times, like now, when everyone was hard and happily at work, it felt exactly right. Amy arrived with her trainee to pick up a shipment, and they started loading bagged and tagged garments into the back of the van.

There was so much noise and activity that Caroline almost didn’t hear the ping that signaled an incoming email message.

She went to her computer and checked the mail. She blinked and sat down slowly. Maybe she made a sound, because Echo stopped what she was doing and came over to her makeshift desk.

“What’s up?” she asked. “You have an oh shit expression on your face.”

“More like a holy shit expression.” She sat back and stared at the screen. It was a photo of Catherine Willoughby from Vogue Celebrity Style, an obsessively followed media feature. The compelling, doe-eyed actress, currently starring in a smash-hit superhero movie, was wearing a C-Shell raincoat.

“Holy shit,” Caroline said again, mesmerized by the surreal idea that one of the most famous women in the world was wearing her coat. It was one of her best and most expensive designs, a fantasy of frosted white with a clear hem filled with silk flower blossoms. “‘Cat’s go-to coat on a rainy day is the April Showers anorak from C-Shell Rainwear. Check it out at c-shellrainwear.com, where one percent of profits go to the Sisterhood Against Domestic Violence.’”

“Well, well, well.” Echo beamed at Caroline. “You’ve got an A-list star wearing one of your designs. She’s got, like, forty-five million followers on Instagram. How cool is that? And how cool that they posted about the Sisterhood Against Domestic Violence.”

Willow had set up the affiliation, and Caroline was quickly discovering that her platform had grown larger than any of them had ever anticipated. She only wished Angelique could be around to see what they’d created.

Amy came over with her intern and her digital inventory monitor. She was spending her last two weeks on the job training her replacement before moving to Reno to train as a long-haul truck driver. To Caroline, she looked like a different person, carrying herself with swagger, not shame. With confidence, not fear. “What’s up, buttercup?” she asked.

Echo grinned at Amy. “We’re looking at Vogue Celebrity Style.”

“My fave.” Amy referenced her skater hoodie and combat boots.

“Cat Willoughby is wearing one of our coats.” Echo turned the monitor so Amy could see.

“No shit. Isn’t she the lightning-bolt girl in that new movie? Hey, that’s fantastic. Now everyone’s going to want one. You’re hitting the big time, Caroline.”

“I’m stunned,” Caroline agreed. “It’s a really beautiful coat, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Echo said. “I worked on that one. Made all the clear hems with the brilliant silk flowers. I knew that would be a hit.”

Caroline tapped her keyboard, forwarding the news to Willow, who usually worked from home.