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Trigger warning: There is violence against a woman in this scene.

LAINEY

“They told him that if he wants to spend the entire time drawing with one crayon, then that’s what we should let him do. He’s ten, for crying out loud! What happened to math and science?” The second Ms. Ledet, Emily, rants on about the first Ms. Ledet’s choice of schooling.

I adjust the volume in my headset. “That doesn’t sound productive.”

Despite wife number two’s relatively young age, twenty-one, she does have a point. The Meditative New School for Youth sounds ridiculously unfocused, but since the ten-year-old isn’t hers, she doesn’t have much of any say in where he goes to school. While counselor isn’t an official part of my job description, being good listeners is why we have repeat business.

Emily rants for a few more minutes. As she winds down, I jump in with a suggestion. “Why don’t I set up a science camp for next summer? Maybe a father/son one that the two guys can spend together before Simon has to go off to training camp.”

“That’s a great idea,” Emily pauses, and then in a small voice says, “I’ll never remember, though.”

I scribble a note. “Not to worry. That’s why you have Forget Me Not. We’ll take care of everything.”

The doorbell rings, saving me from any more discussion with Emily. “There’s someone at the door, Emily. I’ve got to run, but I promise that I’ll set up the summer camps.”

“Oh, wait, we didn’t get to the last item on my list,” she protests. “I want to have holiday lights for the house. All white, large bulbs. One of the ladies at the club told me everyone in the homeowners association does them. They use a company called Lights On. This will be our first Christmas here and if we don’t participate, I know they’ll talk about us!”

Rising to my feet, I make another note. Schedule xmas lights even tho it’s Sept.  “On it, Emily.”

The doorbell rings again and I say my goodbyes before she can speak again. “I’ll touch base with you at the end of the week. Bye!”

In my haste to get off the phone, I don’t look in the peephole. I don’t ask who is outside. I don’t pause to think who it might be. Instead, I swing open the door with an expectant look on my face. I see only half of Chip’s face before I realize my mistake. I should’ve made Emily go through her list another dozen times instead of answering the door.

My ex darts inside before I can stop him. I fall back, watching helplessly as he kicks the door shut and locks it.

“How’re you doing, Lainey? Feeling safe and smug in your house?”


“What are you doing here?” I ask, folding my arms around my waist and backing into the room. “How’d you get past the doorman?”

“Told him I was surprising my girlfriend.” He tosses a bouquet of mangled flowers to the side.

The backs of my legs bump into the coffee table. I look behind me, wondering how fast I can get into my bedroom and lock myself inside.

“Get out,” I say, but the words sound more like a plea than a command. I try again, this time with meaning. “Get the hell out.”

A nasty smile stretches across Chip’s face as if he can smell my fear. “Make me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my phone on the table. I lunge for it but before I can make contact, Chip’s fist whips out and strikes me in the chin.

I spin around, knocking the lamp over. Stumbling, I try to catch myself, but my hand slips off the edge of the table and I fall to my knees. His sneaker-clad foot is in my gut before I can steady myself.

Tears spring into my eyes, but the physical pain jolts the fear out of me. I scramble backwards for space, casting about for a weapon. There are magazines on the table. There’s the lamp that fell down. There’s my feet and my fists. I’m not making this easy for him.

Chip bends down, shoving a hand in my hair and wrenching my neck back. “Guess why I’m here.”

“Because you got fired.” I reach up to grip his wrist and try to pry it away from my head.

His nostrils flare in anger. “That’s right, bitch.”

His hand comes up to slap me, but this time I block it with my other hand. The impact sends a sharp pain from my wrist down my arm, but the resistance surprises Chip. Only for a second, though. His hand tightens in my hair.

“You broke the deal and now I’m breaking you.” He tries again to strike me but I fend him off.

I kick out, like a child having a tantrum, windmilling my legs. I hear him grunt as my foot makes contact with his thigh.

“You fucking, bitch. I’m going to hurt you so fucking bad.” He wrenches my leg to the side and then falls on top of me. Two hundred plus pounds drive me into the carpet.

I thrash underneath him, but he’s too strong. Keep fighting, I tell myself. He pulls on my hair again and this time I let him go, letting the pain feed my own anger. I scratch at his face, catching him in the eye.

“Goddammit,” he screams. He pushes up to this feet and for a moment, I think I’m free. For a moment.  Then he starts dragging me by my hair toward the kitchen. “I’m going to cut this fucking hair off and then I’m going to rape you with a knife because you’re not worth sticking my dick in again.”

I can’t stop the tears—the ones of pain, the ones of fear. But I can still fight.

“This is stupid, Chip. And you’re not stupid.” I make an appeal to his vanity while frantically thinking of a way to free myself. I need to jerk free. He’s got one hand on my head. I can get out of this. I can. I need leverage.

“This is the best idea I’ve had yet.” He sounds cheerful. The man has lost his ever lovin’ mind. My butt hits the tile as we cross the threshold from the living room into the kitchen. “See, if Nick is going to ruin me, then there’s reason why I need to be careful anymore. And if I’m going down, I’m going to make him regret it. What better way that to fuck you up? Literally.” He chuckles. The ball of terror in my stomach flips as he halts in front of the counter.

“Hurting me isn’t going to hurt Nick. We’re friends.” I claw at his wrist, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Right. That’s why I got fired today. Because I messed with his friend. Fuck you, bitch.”

The sound of a knife leaving the butcher block sends chills down my spine.

“You’ve always loved your hair, Lainey. You know what they say? Pride goes before a fall.” He chuckles again.

When he applies the knife to my hair, I can’t stifle my sob. He’s right. I do love my big, messy, curly hair. But I love my life more. I shut my eyes and force myself to concentrate. When the hair is sliced off, I’ll have a moment of freedom. I wait for that. I ignore the strands of hair that fall to the floor and concentrate all my energy on the tiny window of opportunity that will be coming.

“You must have a magic pussy, huh? What’d you offer him that some other jock chaser couldn’t? Did you let him fuck you up the ass? Does he have some fetish? That’s it, isn’t it? He’s got some weird ass kink and you’ll do anything for him, won’t you?” He grabs me around the chin, the knife’s blade precariously close to my face. “What is it?”

I clench my jaw shut. “Tell me,” he screams, leaning down to make sure his spit hits my face. But as he does, his grip loosens. And there it is—my chance.

I spring forward, right into his hand holding the knife. It slices me across the cheek but I keep going. I keep running, diving toward my bedroom. There’s a roar behind me. His feet slam against the carpet.

I lunge for my nightstand and in one smooth, superhuman effort that I’d never be able to repeat if I practiced it a thousand times, I pull the handgun out and swing it around, shooting Chip in the chest just as he reaches for me.

The blast sends him backward. I pull the trigger twice more. There’s a gurgling noise and then the sound of a body crashing to the floor. The recoil from the handgun knocked me down too. I push myself up on an elbow, holding the gun up with my other hand—just in case.

But the body in the doorway doesn’t move. I reach up and grab the phone from my nightstand—it’s a miracle I didn’t knock it off—and dial Nick’s number. It’s amazing that I know it by heart.

“Lainey? I’m on my way to meet with—“

“I shot Chip in the chest,” I interrupt. “I may have killed him.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’m on my way.”

“Okay.”

I hang up and call 9-1-1.

“This is 9-1-1, please state your emergency.”

“I’ve had an intruder…”

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