I believed him. But I was terrified. Kevin had made it clear what would happen if I ever tried to leave.
“You’re mine,” he’d whisper in my ear while his hands squeezed my throat. “Forever. If you ever try to run, I’ll find you. And what happens next will make everything before feel like a love tap.”
But after eleven years, something broke inside me. Maybe it was the night he held a knife to my face and told me he was bored with me. Maybe it was when I realized I’d stopped caring if I lived or died. Either way, I finally ran.
Marcus helped me. Middle of the night. Kevin was at a work conference three states away. I took nothing but clothes and my grandmother’s ring. Marcus drove me to a women’s shelter four hours from home.
For two months, I felt safe. I started sleeping without nightmares. Started eating real meals. Started thinking maybe I could actually survive this.
Then Kevin found me.
I don’t know how. Maybe he tracked my phone before I ditched it. Maybe he hired someone. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I came home from my new job at the grocery store and he was sitting on my bed in the shelter.
“Did you really think you could leave me, Sarah?”
He beat me worse than ever that night. The shelter staff called 911. Kevin was long gone by the time police arrived. I spent a week in the hospital with a shattered cheekbone and internal bleeding.
The police took a report. Got a restraining order. As if a piece of paper would stop a man like Kevin.
“I’m going to fix this,” he said. “I promise you, Sarah. I’m going to make sure he never touches you again.”
“Marcus, don’t do anything stupid. Please. He’s dangerous. If you try to confront him—”
“I’m not going to confront him.” Marcus squeezed my hand. “I’m going to talk to some people I know. People who handle situations like this.”
I thought he meant lawyers. Or maybe police contacts. Marcus worked construction and seemed to know everyone in town.
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