He laughs, like I’m a joke.“This is between me and my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” I correct easily.“And there is no ‘between’ you and her.There’s a restraining order application in motion and a recorded confession downtown with your name on it.So, you’re going to leave.”
His jaw ticks.His irritation impossible to deny.
“She ruined my life,” he spits.“Do you know what people are saying about me?Arson.Attempted murder.She’s making me sound like some monster.”
“If the label fits,” I say mildly.
Rage flashes so fast he doesn’t even try to hide it.He steps closer, his chest puffed out, trying to loom over me and intimidate the way he does with everyone else.
Bad idea.I don’t move, I just stare him down.I’m not afraid of him and I’m not a woman he can intimidate with his size and bravado.
“You think because you’re young and built you can play hero?”he snarls.“She’ll chew you up.She’s lazy and needs constant attention.She’s always crying, always wanting.She’ll balloon the second you relax.You like curves now?Wait two years...”
My vision goes red around the edges.“You don’t get to talk about her body,” I say very quietly.“You don’t have the right.”
He blinks.I step into his space now, not touching, just towering over him.There’s no yelling in me.No wild swinging.Just cold, focused fury that tastes like metal.
“She carried herself out of hell,” I continue, voice a blade.“You set the fire.You tried to make her believe she deserved it.She didn’t.She doesn’t.And she never will.”
He tries to laugh it off and fails.“She told you her sob story.Of course she did.”
“No,” I say.“I was there when the walls fell.I walked through the flames and carried her out.I witnessed firsthand what you did.”
My words land.He sneers again because that’s all he’s got.“You’re a kid.”
“I’m the man standing between you and her,” I reply.“And this is me being polite.”
He leans, crowding me.“What if I don’t respect polite?”
Behind me, the door opens a crack.I don’t need to look to know Olivia is there, I hear her breath.The ex hears it too.
He smiles.The kind of smile that made her small for years.
“There you are, Livvy,” he purrs, trying to look around me.“Come out.We can talk like adults.”
“No,” she says from behind the door.
Her words are not quiet, not shaking, just final.He flinches like she hit him and pride surges in my chest so hard it almost chokes me.
“You don’t get to...”he starts.
“I do get to.I don’t owe you anything,” she cuts in.“Not my time.Not my fear.Not my body.Not my life.”
He stares at the door like it betrayed him.Then he snaps.
It’s always small, the thing that breaks a man like him.A single word.A look he doesn’t like.Losing control of a narrative they thought was theirs.
He lunges.Not at her, at me.He grabs my shirt and tries to drag me closer to him.Big mistake.My training kicks in.Not firehouse training.The kind you learn after your sister dies—how to end things fast without escalating beyond what the law will tolerate.
I break his grip, twist his arm, and plant him face-first against the porch post with just enough pressure to make the message sink through his thick skull without actually injuring him.
He yells, half in pain, but mostly outrage.“Get your hands off me!I’ll have you arrested!”
“Please,” I sigh.“I love paperwork.”
I lean in, my voice soft and for him alone.
