And somewhere behind a closed bedroom door, my five-year-old son is listening to unfamiliar voices and sensing danger he doesn’t understand. Even if he’s asleep right now, his kid brain is absorbing too much. He always has. His brain never shuts off. It’s how he knew something was wrong between me and his father.
We thought he was unconscious in the backseat when we both finally cracked. He was snoring. We were driving home from a movie—we had thought it was a family film about a dog. That’s what all the commercials made it look like. Turns out, the dog was the husband’s last ditch effort to save the marriage.
At first, we were talking about the film. But then, we both realized we were talking about us. It wasn’t long before we knew what we had to do.
When we got home, Mason asked questions about the conversation, details that were only unleashed when he was asleep. So, I know that right now, he’s hearing us, even if only in his subconscious. And I hate that for him.
I hate all of this. I hate that I’m planning escape routes that will put space between me and the people I care about. Leaving is safer for them than staying. They deserve that safety.
The detective finishes the formal questions and clicks off the recorder, but the conversation doesn’t really stop. He tells me I couldn’t have known how far Marcus would go, that people make threats all the time, and most never act on them. He explains that his prior history doesn’t make my decisions reckless in hindsight, unfortunate in outcome. “… you did what any responsible business owner would have done.”
I nod at the right moments. I say thank you. I even manage a weak smile when he tells me I should try to get some rest.
But I know the ugly truth no one will say out loud. As soon as they step away to speak quietly with another officer near the door, the guilt rushes back in, heavier and more insistent than before. Knowing Marcus has done this before doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel worse.
It means I was the latest in a line of people who underestimated him, and this time the consequences are catastrophic, and I should have run a background check on him.
I can picture the moment I fired him, the way I squared my shoulders and told myself I was being professional, that enforcing boundaries was part of the job. It sucked, even though I was pissed at him. Firing people is a part of being in charge, but it never feels right.
I remember how small and furious he looked standing in front of me. How he boiled with rage just beneath the surface. I remember thinking, fleetingly, that maybe I should have handled it differently.
If I had let the stealing go. If I had issued a warning. If I had looked the other way.
Aiden steps in front of me, forcing me to look at him, his expression steady and unyielding. “Stop,” he says. Not unkindly, but with a firmness that doesn’t allow argument. “He stole from you. Repeatedly. You did the right thing.”
I shake my head, tears blurring my vision. “And now he’s burned everything down. If I hadn’t?—”
“If you hadn’t held him accountable,” Aiden cuts in, “he would have kept doing it to you or to someone else. You didn’t do this. He did.”
I want to push back. I want to argue. Instead, I feel the weight of every other failure in my life pile on top of this one. I don’t have the energy to keep going round and round with him about this.
I know what I did. I know what I need to do.
“I’m poison, Aiden,” I say quietly. The word slips out before I can filter it. “Everyone around me gets hurt.”
Aiden’s face softens in a way that makes my chest ache. “That’s not true, Harper.”
“But look at the evidence,” I say, gesturing helplessly around the penthouse. “My ex-husband. My burnt business. Now you and Mason are in the crosshairs of a madman because of me.”
He doesn’t argue. He knows it, too.
I feel myself retreating emotionally, instinctively pulling back from him, from the room, from the fragile sense of safety we’ve been clinging to, thanks to the officers. “I’m going to leave. I’ll get a hotel. Put distance between you and this mess. Marcus…he tracked me here. He’ll track me there. It’ll keep you and Mason safe. It’s the only way?—”
Aiden’s eyes flash. “No.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this because of me. Mason shouldn’t have to?—”
“I love you and that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say. You’re not leaving. Not now. And if I have my say, not ever.”
I stare at him, startled by the intensity in his voice. “Why?”
“Because we’re in this together,” he replies without hesitation. “I’m not leaving, and neither are you. You get me?” The certainty in his tone rattles me more than anger would have. It’s easier to argue against doubt than conviction.
“Why do you even want this?” I ask, my voice breaking. “I’m a mess, Aiden. I’m scared all the time. I make bad choices, and then everything falls apart.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “For years, I convinced myself I was protecting people by keeping them at arm’s length. I thought distance was safety. It wasn’t. It was fear.”
He holds my gaze, not letting me look away as he chucks my chin up with a curved forefinger. “I know you’re scared right now. But you are not poison. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m not letting you push me away.”
