Air vanished from her lungs before she could scream. Panic thundered beneath Caitlin’s skin, her brain screaming for air even as her body lurched blindly toward safety. Her palm scraped the wall, paint chipped beneath her fingernails, the echo of glass and his voice chasing her down the hall. She slammed the bathroom door, the lock’s click impossibly loud—a fragile shield against the predator on the other side. A sharp rasp scraped her throat, blood-metallic and raw. She pressed her shivering back to the wood, counting the heartbeats until she remembered how to pray.
“Caitlin!” The knob rattled. “Open the damn door!”
She pressed her arms tighter around herself, trying to hold in the shaking. Her throat throbbed where his fingers had been. She could taste blood.Don’t cry. Don’t make a sound.
The banging stopped. Silence. Then, from down the hall, his voice—smooth again, measured.
“You may as well come out. You’re going to have to sooner or later.”
That was when she knew—this would never stop. Not unless she made it stop.
Her hand fumbled for her phone.
9-1-1.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“My husband—he—he attacked me. Please—he said he’d kill me.”
“Are you somewhere safe?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Locked in the downstairs bathroom.”
“Good. Stay there. Officers are on the way. Keep the door locked until you hear them call your name. We’ll stay on the line.”
She clutched the phone tighter. The ice clinked again, followed by that soft, tuneless hum that made her skin crawl.
Minutes crawled.
Then—footsteps. A knock.
“Mrs. West? Police!”
Her breath hitched. She cracked the door. Two officers filled the hall, flashlights cutting through the dim.
In the library, Jason stood with a drink in hand, smile perfectly composed.
“Officers, there must be a mistake. My wife’s upset. We argued, that’s all.”
“Step aside, sir.”
“Cuff him,” one said.
The metallic snap rang out like a gunshot. Jason turned his head, his voice low enough for only her.
“This isn’t over.”
They led her into the library—Jason’s favorite room, the one he loved to show off. Books lined the paneled walls like trophies. A fire burned in the grate, the air thick with whiskey and leather.
She sank into a chair, trembling.
A medic knelt beside her, shining a light across her pupils, voice gentle.
“Ma’am, you’re safe now. Deep breaths.”
Officer Jackson crouched beside her, hat in hand, eyes steady.
“You don’t have to live like this,” he said quietly. “Whatever he’s told you—it isn’t true. You’re not the problem here.” He slipped a card onto the table. “You did the right thing tonight.”
