Page 17 of Once Upon A Second Chance (Once Upon A Time…To Happily Ever After #2)

Chapter Fourteen

Penny

I knew it was coming.

You can feel judgment in a small town the way you feel humidity in the air—heavy, sticky, impossible to shake.

It clings to you, even when people smile like everything’s fine.

Like they don’t believe the things they said behind their hands.

This week, it’s been a master class in silent condemnation.

Lingering glances at the clinic. Quiet when I enter the break room. Simmons suddenly needing "clarity" on every decision Richard makes. Like being cautious is the same as being spineless.

But today? Today, someone finally says the thing out loud.

It happens at the farmer’s market of all places—on a Saturday morning with sun filtering through wind chimes and the scent of kettle corn in the air. I’m halfway to the bakery booth when she appears.

Mrs. Audrey Wallace.

The queen of the PTA. Church choir leader. A woman who once called me “a beacon of grace under pressure” when I helped stabilize her grandson during a nosebleed at soccer practice.

Today she has a tote bag over one shoulder and a tight-lipped expression that’s somewhere between pity and self-righteous concern.

“Penny,” she says, stepping into my path with that syrupy voice that’s always two shades too sweet. “Do you have a minute?”

I smile and pause. “Morning, Audrey.”

She pulls something from her bag—a manila envelope, thick with printed pages and neatly labeled tabs.

“I wasn’t sure how to approach this,” she says, her voice lowering like we’re discussing terminal illness or unwed pregnancy, “but… I just want you to know that you’re not alone.”

I stare at the envelope. “What do you mean? What’s that?”

“Resources. For women who’ve experienced… trauma. Abuse. There’s a wonderful shelter in Franklin that takes anonymous referrals. And some legal contacts, if you ever feel ready to take that step.”

The silence around us deepens.

I blink once.

Twice.

“Excuse me?” I say, voice flat.

“I know it’s hard to admit when someone we care about has hurt us. Especially someone as… charismatic as Dr. Hogan. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not the only woman this town who has had this type of experience.”

For a second, I forget how to breathe.

“I’m not being abused,” I say. Slowly. Clearly. “Richard didn’t do what she’s saying he did.”

Audrey gives me that look—the one I’ve seen a hundred times. Like I’m too close to the flames to know I’m burning.

“It’s common,” she says. “Denial. But when you’re ready—”

“I said,” I snap, “he didn’t do it.”

She flinches. Just slightly.

And that’s it.

Something in me boils over.

“You think I’d be here smiling like everything’s fine if it wasn’t?

You think I’d be treating post-op patients, charting rehab plans, walking my dog, drinking coffee in this exact damn market if I was living in fear?

If I did want to live in fear don’t you think I would have stayed with Travis? ” My voice rises, sharp and trembling.

I hold up the envelope between us like it’s radioactive. “You want to help someone, Audrey? Start with the women in this town who actually need these resources. Not the ones being dragged through the dirt by jealous ex-wives with a flair for drama.”

Her mouth opens—probably to say something about tone or prayer circles—but I’m already walking away.

My hands are shaking.

I don’t look back.

I drive straight to the clinic, even though it’s closed.

The building is empty, the lights dim. I sit in the parking lot with the engine running and my fists clenched in my lap.

I didn’t realize how hard I’d been holding everything in until it exploded out of me.

The envelope’s still on the passenger seat, unopened.

Mocking.

I should’ve yelled more. Or less. Or just walked away. But something about the way she said you’re not alone like I was a victim and didn’t know it—like I was weak and blind and stupid—lit a fire in me I didn’t know I still had.

Because I’m not ashamed of being with Richard.

I’m proud.

And I’m done letting other people rewrite the story just because the truth isn’t dramatic enough for them.

He’s not perfect.

Neither am I.

But I’ve seen the way he’s changed. The way he stays. The way he fights—quietly, patiently, with everything he has—for the people he loves.

And if this town can’t see that?

Then maybe it’s the town that needs fixing.

Not him.

The envelope still sits in the passenger seat, taunting me with its pity and pastel-highlighted tabs, as I pull into my driveway.

I leave it there.

My mind’s still on the Farmer’s Market, on Audrey Wallace and her carefully folded lies. On the way people in this town look at me like I don’t know my own life. Like I’m too stupid or scared to tell right from wrong.

I’m halfway to the front door when I hear it.

“Penny.”

The voice freezes me in place.

Travis.

He’s leaning against the porch railing like he belongs there.

Same smug smile. Same grease-stained jeans. A cocky little tilt to his head that used to make girls in high school swoon. Now it just makes my skin crawl.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I say.

“I heard about the thing at the pharmacy,” he says, like this is a casual check-in and not a violation. “Thought I should come see for myself. Make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

He steps closer. “That’s not what I heard. They’re saying he hurt Rebecca. And if he hurt her, Penny…”

I back toward the steps, keys tight in my fist. “You don’t get to play the hero here, Travis.”

He lifts his hands. “I’m just trying to save you from making a mistake.”

I almost laugh.

“Save me?” I repeat. “You’re the reason I double-check locks. You’re the reason I changed my goddamn phone number. I don’t need saving. Except maybe from you.”

He frowns, like I’ve broken some internal script.

“You don’t mean that. You’re just upset. The whole town’s talking—”

“Yeah. And you’re not helping.”

I move to unlock the door, but he takes a step toward me.

“You’re still not seeing it,” he says. “He’s got you twisted. I’m the only one who ever really cared about you.”

I spin to face him. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m filing a restraining order.”

That gets a laugh. “No, you won’t. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

I meet his eyes, dead steady. “Watch me.”

Then I walk.

Down the porch steps. Past the driveway. Straight onto the sidewalk like my spine is made of iron.

“Penny!” he calls, confused. “Where are you going?”

I don’t answer.

He follows.

“Come on, stop being dramatic. You’re not seriously doing this—”

I keep walking.

“You file something like that, and you’re gonna regret it.”

I stop.

Turn.

And I say it loud. Clear. For the whole block to hear.

“Did you just threaten me, Travis?”

He freezes, eyes flicking to the side just as a patrol car rounds the corner and slows.

A young officer—Rodriguez, I think—steps out of the cruiser. “Everything all right here, Miss Morgan?”

Travis raises his hands again, like a bad magician with one trick. “It’s nothing. Just a misunderstanding.”

I shake my head. “It’s not nothing. He followed me here. He won’t leave me alone. I need to file a report.”

Rodriguez’s expression sharpens. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to back away.”

Travis falters, then—finally—starts to retreat. “I didn’t mean nothing by it,” he mutters.

But the smirk is gone.

I watch him disappear around the corner.

Only then do I breathe again.

Rodriguez turns back to me. “Want to come to the station?”

I nod.

“I’d like to file a report,” I say. “And I want to start the process for a restraining order.”

He opens the car door for me.

And I climb in, head high and prepare to take control.