The relief in my chest curdled, turning sharp and cold. I turned to Liam without thinking, the words catching as they came.
“He’s watching us.”
My gaze stayed on him a beat too long. The fear slipped through before I could rein it in—old and instinctive, the kind my stepfather had trained into me long before I was old enough to understand what it meant.
"He’s doing more than that. He's trying to find the cracks," Sandra warned. "Be careful. Men like him don't stop just because a judge gives a temporary order. They escalate when they feel they’re losing control."
She nodded once to Liam, then turned and walked back toward the courthouse, leaving her warning hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
I watched her go, the brief hope in my chest already souring. We didn't just have to pass an inspection; we had to win a war against a man who knew exactly where to twist the knife.
Liam’s hand was still on my back. His thumb shifted, brushing the fabric of my coat, a quiet reminder of where I was.
“Hey.” A pause, gentle but alert. “Hey. You okay?”
“No.” The word came out bare, unguarded—rare for me. I lifted my eyes to his, a sick, exposed feeling settling in as the admission hung between us. The ranch felt a hundred miles away, and we had less than two days to turn it into a fortress.“We have forty-eight hours to make it look like I didn't just move my life into your spare room yesterday. Let's go home.”
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Home.
Dinner that night was quieter than usual.
Mia had been waiting on the porch when we pulled up, her whole body tense with questions she was too afraid to ask. I'd told her the basics while Liam started cooking. We won. For now. The judge was letting her stay, but she was sending a caseworker to the ranch in two days to make sure the house was safe.
Mia had nodded, her face carefully blank, and retreated to her room until dinner was ready.
We sat at the kitchen table, the three of us, pushing food around our plates. Liam had cooked pasta—Mia’s favorite, though he didn’t know that. He’d chosen it because it was easy, because it didn’t ask for much.
Mia ate anyway. Quiet, careful, but she finished most of it. That felt like something.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it was heavy with the deadline hanging over our heads.
"Was he there?" Mia asked suddenly. She didn't look up from her plate. "Todd?"
I hesitated. Liam's eyes found mine across the table, steady and encouraging.
“Yeah.” I kept my eyes on my plate. “He was there.”
Mia’s fork scraped against the plate. Her shoulders drew in, chin dipping as if she were bracing for the answer. She didn’t look up. "Did he say anything?"
"Nothing that matters."
She looked up then, her dark eyes sharp. "That means he did."
I didn't know how to lie to her. I'd never been good at it, and she'd always been too smart to believe me anyway.
"He's trying to get in my head," I drew a breath, steadying it before continuing. "That's what he does. But it doesn't matter what he says. The judge ruled in our favor. That's what counts."
Mia was quiet for a moment. Then, so softly I almost missed it: "He used to do that to Mom too. Say things. Get in her head. Make her think everything was her fault."
My chest ached. I reached across the table, and this time, Mia didn't pull away. Her hand was small in mine, her fingers cold.
“I’m not Mom.” The words came out steady, anchored there between us. “And you’re not going back to him. Ever.”
I tightened my grip just a fraction.
“I promise.”
