You’re making this worse.
Rebecca read it and gave a humorless smile.
“He knows.”
By late afternoon, I had twenty-seven missed calls.
Daniel changed his approach every hour.
First came anger.
You think anyone will believe you?
Then self-pity.
I’m under pressure. Megan pushed me. I didn’t mean for it to happen.
Then affection.
You’re my wife. Don’t let strangers poison what we built.
Finally came the threat.
If I go down, you go down too.
Rebecca preserved every message.
That evening, I stayed in a guesthouse owned by an old friend in Fairfax.
Her name was Emily Carter, a nurse I had known years earlier, before Daniel began accusing my friends of “influencing” me.
Emily opened the door, saw my injuries, and embraced me so gently that I nearly collapsed.
“You can stay as long as you need,” she said.
For the first time in years, no one demanded that I earn the right to feel safe.
