Page 70 of Once Upon A Second Chance

I stare at her for a moment, jaw tight, throat thick with the words I didn’t get to say.

“You sure you’re okay?”

She nods.

“Filed the report. Started the paperwork for the restraining order. Travis won’t be coming back unless he wants a cop on his porch.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and lean my foreheadagainst hers.

“Good job! But you scared the hell out of me.”

“Yeah, well.” She smirks, gently brushing a curl away from my face. “Now you know how I felt when you left a hemostat in someone’s chest back in ’08 just before closing.”

“That wasone time.”

“And I had to stitch your ego back together for a week.”

Her smile falters just slightly, and I see the flash of what it cost her to stand tall today—to walk to that police station, to speak up, to act.

She’s strong, but even strength leaves bruises.

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my chest. She sinks into me easily, like she’s been waiting for this too.

“I’m proud of you,” I murmur.

She exhales into my shoulder. “I’m proud of me too.”

And just like that, the tension in my spine softens. Not because the threat is gone. Not because everything’s suddenly easy.

But because she faced it.

And she’s still here.

After Penny reheats some leftover pasta and insists I sit while she plates it, we settle across from each other at her small kitchen table.

The dog snores underfoot like none of this concerns her. The quiet is domestic, peaceful even—but it’s the kind of peace that comesafterthe sirens have faded, not before.

She twirls her fork a few times before speaking.

“So… Audrey Wallace cornered me at the Farmer’s Market.”

I glance up. “Yeah?”

“She gave me an envelope full of pamphlets. You know. Resources. Shelters. Support groups for ‘women like me.’” She makes air quotes, voice flat.

I blink. “Jesus.”

She gives a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Apparently, she thinks I’m too far gone to realize I’m being abused,but not too far gone to bake something for the church potluck next week.”

I put down my fork.

We sit there in the thick quiet of it.

“I’ve been feeling it too,” I admit. “The looks. The cold shoulders. Simmons won’t stop double-checking my work, and three patients cancelled this week without rescheduling.”

Her eyes flick to mine, sharp. “You didn’t tell me that.”

I shrug, but it doesn’t come off casual. “Didn’t want to make it worse.”