I remain calm because the last thing I want is a restraining order against me.
“Okay, thanks, I’ll wait for her here.” I end the call and check her GPS. I’ve had it synced to my phone since the wedding. When I fire up the locator app, her phone doesn’t register. I immediately text her, but I know in my soul that she ran.
Where are you?
17
SELENA
Where are you?
It is the first text I read when I turn on my phone after traveling all night. I need to get a new phone and a new number again. I don’t have long before he finds me.
I don’t know why I turn it on. Mostly just to text my sister like I do every day, pretending I’m sitting in a law office answering phones. I still don’t have the heart to tell her I married the jerk. And now, I’m glad I didn’t.
More texts flood in.
I’m not mad. Come home. We’re going to talk. No yelling. We’ll be mature about this. I’m willing to listen, but know this scares the shit out of me. — Griffin.
DO NOT RUN AWAY FROM ME!
We can talk it out.
I’m willing to consider parenting.
I know you’re hurting. I was wrong. You’re worth saving, Selena. I fucked up. I’m selfish and broken. Please talk to me.
Just don’t leave. Give this a chance. — your husband.
I turn off my phone. I can’t do this right now.
Griffin put thousands of dollars in my account for clothes, so I have access to cash. I am at a motel in Upstate New York, hovering on the Canadian border. After pulling cash out at an ATM near the hospital, I paid a taxi driver a small fortune to drive me as far north as he could go.
I got a room at the cheapest motel I could find. As soon as I walked in, I lay down, feeling drained, overwhelmed, and dead inside.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I wake to a pounding knock at the door. I know that behind that door is trouble.
“Selena!”
I hear Griffin’s voice, and I panic.How the hell did he find me?
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve cancelled all my meetings to be here. Just give me a chance. Don’t run away from this.” He sounds desperate.
I feel like crap, I look like shit, and my first instinct is to lock myself in the bathroom. But I reach out and grab my phone instead, turning it on so I can call 911 if I need it. When the screen flares to life, I see fifty-seven missed calls.
I have to face him.
I get out of bed, undo the chain, and open the door.
“I gave you thousands of dollars, and you’re staying in a roach motel?” He’s laughing, but the sound is brittle.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
“Okay.” He walks over to me. I flinch, but he pulls me into a hug before I can retreat.
“How did you find me?” I start shaking, sobbing into his expensive coat. “I turned my GPS off...”
“Shhh.” He smooths his hand over my head. “I have a hardwired tracker on your phone. All the Christopher Street Society husbands have their wives followed.”
