CHAPTER 190
SKYLAR'S POV
The United Nations General Assembly hall had never felt so vast and intimidating as it did in the moments before I stepped up to address the most powerful people in the world. Fifteen years after escaping my father's house, I was about to speak to world leaders about the very crimes that had shaped my childhood.
From the gallery above, I could see my family - Harry, Jax, Lucas, and our three children - watching with expressions that mixed pride and concern. Twelve-year-old Addison sat perfectly still, her dark eyes focused on me with the intensity she brought to everything important. Seven-year-old Liam leaned forward in his seat, while four-year-old Elena fidgeted quietly between her fathers.
"Distinguished delegates," I began, my voice carrying clearly through the assembly hall's advanced sound system, "my name is Skylar Mitchell, and I stand before you today not just as the director of an anti-trafficking foundation, but as a survivor."
The hall fell silent in a way that rarely happened during UN sessions. Delegates stopped their whispered conversations and side meetings to focus on the podium.
"When I was five years old, my father sold me to men who used children as commodities. When I was eight, I learned that some adults see innocence not as something to protect, but as something to exploit. When I was fifteen, I discovered that the people meant to save me were sometimes worse than the people I needed saving from."
I could see some delegates shifting uncomfortably in their seats. This wasn't the sanitized version of trafficking they usually heard in policy briefings.
"But I also learned something else. I learned that love can exist in the darkest places. That families can be chosen as well as born. That ordinary people can become extraordinary when they decide that some things are worth fighting for."
My eyes found my family in the gallery, and I saw Jax give me the smallest nod of encouragement.
"The statistics you'll hear today are staggering. Twenty-five million people currently trapped in forced labor. Four million victims of commercial sexual exploitation. Children as young as five being bought and sold like products."
I clicked to the first slide of my presentation, showing a world map dotted with red indicators.
"But behind every statistic is a child who should be playing with friends instead of servicing strangers. A teenager who should be worried about homework instead of survival. A young adult who should be building dreams instead of recovering from nightmares."
The delegate from Cambodia leaned forward, her expression intent. I knew she'd been working on anti-trafficking legislation in her own country.
"The traditional approach to this crisis has been reactive - rescue victims, prosecute traffickers, provide rehabilitation services. These efforts are necessary and valuable, but they're not sufficient."
I clicked to the next slide, showing before-and-after satellite images of facilities our foundation had helped shut down.
"Real change requires us to address the demand that drives trafficking in the first place. It requires us to confront the economic systems that make human exploitation profitable. It requires us to acknowledge that this crisis exists because too many people benefit from it."
A murmur went through the assembly hall. This wasn't the diplomatic language usually heard at UN sessions.
"In the past fifteen years, my foundation has coordinated the rescue of over three thousand victims. We've dismantled forty-seven trafficking networks. We've provided rehabilitation services to survivors across six continents."
I paused, letting those numbers settle.
"But for every victim we've saved, ten more have taken their place. For every network we've destroyed, new ones have emerged to fill the vacuum. We've been treating symptoms while the disease continues to spread."
The Secretary-General was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. We'd discussed this speech beforehand, but I'd deliberately kept some of my more controversial points to myself.
"The uncomfortable truth is that human trafficking thrives because legitimate institutions allow it to thrive. Banks that process payments they know come from exploitation. Shipping companies that don't ask questions about suspicious cargo. Government officials who look the other way when properly motivated."
Now I had their attention completely. Several delegates were taking notes, while others looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"But there's another truth that gives me hope. Change is possible when good people decide to act. I know this because I've lived it."
I clicked to a photo of our family - all seven of us together at last year's foundation gala.
"Fifteen years ago, three men decided that saving one trafficked teenager was worth risking their lives. They didn't have special training or unlimited resources. They just had the conviction that some things are more important than personal safety."
In the gallery, I could see Harry's jaw tighten slightly. He'd never been comfortable with being called a hero.
"Today, that teenager stands before you as proof that rescue is possible, that healing is achievable, that victims can become advocates. But more importantly, those three men stand as proof that ordinary people can choose to be extraordinary."
I clicked to the final slide - a graph showing the dramatic decrease in trafficking incidents in regions where our foundation operated.
"The choice before you today is simple. You can continue to treat trafficking as an unfortunate reality that must be managed, or you can commit to treating it as a crime against humanity that must be eliminated."
The hall was completely silent now, delegates hanging on every word.
"I'm not asking for sympathy for victims. I'm demanding action from leaders. I'm not requesting charitable donations. I'm requiring systematic change."
I stepped closer to the microphone, my voice carrying the authority I'd earned through years of fighting for innocent lives.
"Because somewhere in the world right now, a child is being sold. Somewhere, a teenager is being brutalized. Somewhere, a young adult is losing hope that rescue will ever come."
I found my family's faces in the gallery one more time, drawing strength from their presence.
"That child deserves better than our sympathy. That teenager deserves more than our concern. That young adult deserves action from the most powerful people in the world."
I closed my notes and looked directly at the assembly.
"The question isn't whether you have the power to stop human trafficking. You do. The question is whether you have the will."
The applause that followed was unlike anything I'd heard in my years of public speaking - sustained, emotional, building to a crescendo that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.
But as I left the podium and made my way toward the gallery where my family waited, I couldn't shake the feeling that words, no matter how powerful, might not be enough.
That real change would require the kind of decisive action that had brought us together in the first place.
And that despite all our legitimate success, we might once again find ourselves forced to choose between following the rules and protecting innocent lives.
The standing ovation continued as I reached my family, but the look in Addison's eyes told me she understood what I was really thinking.
Sometimes the most important battles couldn't be fought in assembly halls and committee rooms.
Sometimes they required people willing to cross lines that others wouldn't even approach.
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