29/05/2026
I switched on the radio, and was intrigued to hear it was the ghostwriter, Amy Wallace, who had written Virginia Giuffre's book. My ears bristled as I listened to this harrowing story.
Her story resonated deeply, and I understood her fear. I already knew that Virginia's path, and the powers she was up against were immense and she hardly stood a chance. I listened as her writer spoke, wishing it were Virginia herself, as she told of the young, naive sixteen-year-old girl who began working at the Mar-a-Lago estate, full of innocent enthusiasm and hope.
Virginia loved her position, and I could relate to that, as young women, we step into the big wide world with a fresh smile, wanting to impress, to do well, to please, only to find that our good nature is, unknowingly, and incrementally abused.
Virginia had recalled the first time she encountered Ghislaine Maxwell, a beautiful woman clutching a handbag worth more than her father's truck. She remembered sitting there, reading a book about anatomy, and how that small detail opened a conversation about massage, helping her succeed, and introducing her to a wealthy man.
You see, women trust women. There's a code, an unspoken sense of safety that no woman would knowingly place a young, innocent girl into the hands of predators, would they?
I remember having that same innocence at sixteen, falling into traps I didn't even see. My heart bled for this girl as I listened, because I knew how it felt, the confusion, the fear, and the disbelief that something like this could happen.
Later that same week, I found myself in a discussion about it with a group of men and women. The opinions were mixed, some sympathetic, most judgemental.
"Why did she wait so long before saying anything?" one said.
"She was happy to take the money though, wasn't she?" said another.
What struck me most was the lack of compassion, the quickness to blame the victim. Nobody was questioning the perpetrators. Nobody applauded Virginia for her bravery or for breaking the silence despite the threats, and the fear of what would happen if she spoke out.
Nobody mentioned what a great act of courage it was to break a hush-money agreement for the sake of the girls who might come after her.
Hush money protects predators, not survivors.
“Silence is the greatest persecution; the saints never kept silent." - Blaise Pascal
I know what it feels like when the people who should protect you are the ones who harm you. The fear of speaking out when no one will believe you because your abuser holds all the power and credibility.
Why don't many of us speak up at the time? Because at that tender age, the world we step into, even when dark, becomes our normal. Our inner compass knows something's wrong, but we push it aside, wanting to survive, and to be good. Often it's not until we have our own children that we begin to wake up, and we see what really happened to us.
Why take the hush money and later speak out? Because when we don't hold the power, we are powerless, systematically broken down until we no longer recognise ourselves. Su***de begins to feel very real, a chosen path. We give up at that point because we can't take any more.
But, the money doesn't heal. Later, as we build ourselves back up, we know deeply that what happened was downright wrong, and no amount of money or power should ever prevent accountability.
One thing I've learned in this life is that those who have endured the most pain often carry the deepest compassion and empathy.
We can't change what happened to us, but we can refuse to let silence protect those who lie, manipulate, abuse and harm. The more we speak, the more we stand beside one another, the harder it becomes for predators to hide in the shadows.
Healing begins, in being heard, in being believed, in never again being broken down for just trying to survive and do what's right.
This piece is for Virginia, and for every girl who has tried so hard to speak out, who's been blamed, shamed, or judged by a world that too often protects, idolises and worships status, money and power over truth.
Even when the world isn't ready to listen, some of us are.
