Page 25

T he next morning, I drove straight to the police station. The sky was overcast, that dull gray that feels like the world is holding its breath. Even the air felt suspended, thick with unspoken warnings.

The police station stood stark against the sky, its brick facade washed in shadows, cold and unmoved.

I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine, but didn’t move.

I sat there in silence, gripping the steering wheel with both hands like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. My knuckles whitened.

The note Angie left replayed in my mind on a loop, her handwriting sharp, slanted, almost manic. Her handwriting burned into my memory.

It might get worse. The thought chilled me. I wasn’t going to wait for her next message.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I approached the front desk. The officer behind the glass barely looked up. “Help you?”

I nodded, holding up the notes in a clear zip lock bag. “I need to file a report. Someone left this at my home. It’s a threat. ”

That got his attention. He took the bag, read the notes, then motioned for another officer. Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in a small, windowless room going over everything: who she was, what had happened between us, the affair, the blocked calls, the obsessive texts, and now this.

I didn’t hold anything back. I couldn’t afford to.

“I’m not pressing charges yet,” I told the officer, “but I need this on record. I’ve got kids in the house and I need a restraining order.”

The officer nodded. “You’ve done the right thing coming in. If you’ve got any old texts, emails, voicemails, anything, send them to us. Keep this note. We’ll make copies. And keep your security cameras on at home.”

I left the station with a weight lifted and a folder full of paperwork, documentation, steps for filing a restraining order, and the contact info for the officer assigned my case.

I called my lawyer next. I wanted everything airtight.

Angie had been a crack in the foundation of my life, and I wasn’t going to let her become a fault line again.

Back at the rental, I installed a pair of security cameras, one for the front porch, one for the back. I texted Sloane the update, but kept it brief.

Filed a report. Getting restraining order next. You and the kids are safe. I won’t let her near you.

She responded a few minutes later:

Thank you. For handling this the right way. I didn't want to have to bail you out of jail...

That was one time Sloane. I can be a good boy .

I hoped that gave her at least a chuckle. Reading her words gave me something I hadn’t felt in weeks - a sense of control. Hell, it was starting to finally feel like I was doing the right thing. Not just talking about change but proving it.

Baby steps, big guy.

I wasn’t only protecting them from Angie. I was protecting them from the man I used to be.

So when Sloane continued our conversation, I was elated.

Hey… I’ve been feeling off the past few days. Think something’s going around the clinic. I'm exhausted.

I’m sorry to hear that. What do you need?

Would you mind taking the kids tonight? I took off from work and plan to stay home today. I need to rest. Maybe sleep without anyone knocking on the door.

Of course. I’ll pick them up after school, take care of dinner, Liam's soccer game, homework, bedtime routine, whatever they need.

Thank you.

And thanks again for handling the Angie thing. I’ve been sleeping better knowing you took it seriously.

I meant what I said… I’ll protect you and the kids no matter what.

Let me know if you need anything else. I plan to bring extra security cameras to set up over there. I don't want her anywhere near you guys.

The private school pickup line felt longer than usual, or maybe that was the knot of nerves twisting in my chest. Both kids would be getting out around the same time, which had been a simple but major selling point when we picked that school; staggered release times were always inconvenient, and often impossible, for working parents.

I spotted Violet first, her hair bouncing as she waved and backpack slung half-open like always. Liam followed behind already in his soccer uniform, his cleats slapping against the pavement.

“Hey, you guys hungry?” I asked as they piled into the truck.

“Daddy, I am starving,” Violet groaned dramatically. “I barely made it through math.”

“Can we stop for sandwiches?” Liam asked, buckling his seatbelt.

“Done. Let’s go.”

Dinner was fast and easy. I let Violet pick the music in the truck while Liam scarfed down his sub in record time. The conversation drifted from school to YouTube to whatever new project Violet wanted help with. It felt… normal.

By the time we got to the soccer field, the sun had dipped low and the floodlights buzzed overhead. The air held that early autumn chill, enough to make me grateful I’d remembered to grab their jackets.

Sloane had always been the one to show up early, set out the folding chair, make sure Liam had his water bottle and extra socks.

I used to brush it off, thinking it wasn’t a big deal.

But now, holding Violet’s hand while we crossed the grass, it hit me.

It was a big deal. Every tiny moment was a huge moment.

“Dad,” Liam said, running up before the game started. “You’ll stay the whole time, right?”

I placed my hand on his shoulder and met his eyes. “I won't miss a second.”

He nodded and tried to act cool, but I saw it: relief.

Violet and I cheered loud. Maybe a little too loud.

She stood on the bench, screaming her brother's name. I found myself yelling too, guilty of coaching from the sidelines, even though I didn’t know a damned thing about soccer.

Parents side-glanced at us, but I didn't care.

Liam played hard. Scored once. Missed a second shot. But he smiled through all of it.

Once we got back home, I let them watch one episode of their favorite show while I folded laundry and prepped a small dessert. I texted Sloane a picture of Liam’s muddy jersey with the caption:

Victory stains. One goal, one near fight, three grass stains.

Her reply came a few minutes later:

Thanks for being there tonight. It means more than you know.

Once they were tucked in, Violet with her favorite stuffed fox and Liam already snoring, I walked downstairs with Rufus in tow. The house was quiet except for Rufus’s tail thumping against everything we walked by.

I got to the bottom of the stairs and I saw it. A folded piece of paper slid halfway under the front door. I picked it up knowing who it was from .

Same red lipstick, same scrawling letters.

You think you can cut me out? You’re still mine. They’ll never see you the way I do. I've seen you at your worst.

I stared at it for a full minute while my heart pounded like a war drum.

This wasn’t going to be over unless I started being more proactive.

I snapped a photo and sent it to the number the police station gave me, the one they said to use if things escalated.

A confirmation text buzzed back: a case number, cold and clinical, followed by a promise that someone would be in touch within twenty four to forty eight hours.

It wasn’t fast enough. Not for the way Angie moved, but it was a start. I needed to stay ahead of her and gather all I could: every photo, every call, every spoiled breadcrumb she left behind.

Angie might not be the same as she was in my previous life, but like hell if I was going to let her ruin this life for me. I wasn’t only protecting myself anymore. I was building a case strong enough to bury her.

I folded the note and slid it into my back pocket. Rufus sat near the door, ears up and eyes sharp, on high alert. He must’ve either heard her or smelled her perfume.

I checked the locks twice and turned off the porch light before I made my way towards the master bedroom. Sloane’s door was cracked, soft light spilling into the hall. She had slipped out during the final countdown with the kids and given them brief kisses before heading to shower.

I stared at the soft outline of her door, what used to be our door, and I felt a pang as I raised my hand to tap.

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice tired but gentle .

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was propped up in bed, book in hand, a mug of tea on her nightstand. She looked pale. Her eyes were shadowed with fatigue.

“You okay?” I asked, hovering near the edge of the room.

She nodded. “Tired. Headache won’t go away.”

“Want anything? Water? Ice pack?”

“No, just sleep. I already took something earlier.”

I hesitated before I crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. I didn't want to disturb her, but I hungered to be near her, hear her voice, see her face.

“The kids are finally down,” I said. “Liam crushed it tonight. One goal and tons of attitude. Violet wants to paint her sneakers tomorrow.”

Sloane gave me a faint smile, as if that was the exact update she’d needed.

"Thanks for being there, Levi."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be. I'm glad I could help. " We sat in silence for a moment before I asked, "What are you reading?"

"Oh, a romance. Why?"

"Just wondering. I, uh…” I started, then paused, rubbing my palms together. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Or maybe… bring up.”

She glanced at me over the edge of her book. “Levi, if this is about trying any of the things in this book, I should warn you: this hero does Pilates, rescues dogs, and has the stamina of a Greek god. You cannot compete.”

I blinked. “Okay, well, I was going to ask if you wanted tea, but now I feel personally attacked.”

She smirked. “You walked into it. ”

“This is why men stick to talking about weather and traffic.”

"Well, Levi… you are tragically real.”

“Great. What every man wants to be: tragic and real.”

She put the book down. "You were not going to ask me about tea. Stop delaying. What's wrong, Levi?" Her expression didn’t change much, but I saw her posture shift, guarded, bracing for bad news.

“I know it’s soon. I know things are still raw and I want to respect your space, your boundaries.” I met her eyes. “But I’d like to come back. Home. Not only crash in the guest room occasionally, or help with the kids. I mean really move back in. Start again.”

Sloane blinked as the silence between us stretched.

“Levi…” she whispered, “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“I get it. I do. I’m not asking for an answer tonight or tomorrow. It's just… being here, helping with them, being around you…”

Her lips parted like she might speak, but no words came. A slow exhale.

“I’m not asking you to forget or forgive,” I said. “Maybe… consider.”

Finally, she nodded. “Let me sleep on it."

I stood and brushed her arm with my fingers before leaving. “Of course. Do you mind if I crash in the guest room again? So I can help with the morning routine?”

She nodded, “Sure. Goodnight, Levi.” She gave me a tired smile and went back to reading her book. As I walked towards the stairs to head up to the guest room, I saw Rufus at the front door still. Staring. Guarding.

And in my back pocket, the note from Angie burned against my leg.