Two words, and my whole body went cold. I don't know how he tracked me down. Social media, maybe, or people we'd known in high school. It didn't matter how. What mattered was that he was back, and he was drunk, and he hadn't forgotten.
The texts started. Then the phone calls. Then the showing up at my work, watching me through the window with that smile that used to make me feel special and now made me feel hunted. Then the break-in: my apartment trashed, nothing stolen, just a message. Just him proving he could get to me whenever he wanted.
I filed a police report. Got a restraining order. And Evan laughed and kept coming, because paper doesn't stop a man who's decided you belong to him.
So I ran. Back to West Valley Springs, the town I'd sworn I'd never return to, the last place Evan would think to look. I used my mother's maiden name. Kept my head down. Became invisible.
It was a flimsy shield. Evan could find the name if he looked hard enough. But it was the only protection I had, and for six months, it worked.
Until today.
"Lucy."
Joanna's voice cut through the fog. I looked upfrom the counter I'd been wiping for the past ten minutes, the same spot over and over, and found her watching me with sharp eyes.
"Break room," she said. "Now."
I followed her to the back, the door swinging shut behind us, muffling the café noise. Joanna leaned against the prep table, arms crossed, studying me the way she did when she was trying to decide how hard to push.
"You've been staring at your phone all morning," she said. "And you look like you've seen a ghost. Talk to me."
I opened my mouth to say I'm fine, but the words wouldn't come. Maybe because I'd said them too many times already. Maybe because Joanna was looking at me like she already knew they were a lie.
"My ex," I said. The words felt strange in my mouth, too small for what they meant. "He's been texting me."
Joanna's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes went hard. "The one you left before you came here?"
I nodded.
"The one who put those shadows under your eyes? Who taught you to flinch every time someone moves too fast?"
I didn't answer. I didn't need to.
"Have you gone to the sheriff?"
"It won't help." My voice came out flat. "I filed reports in Denver. Got a restraining order. He didn't care. It just made him angrier."
"This isn't Denver." Joanna's voice was firm. "This is West Valley Springs. We take care of our own here. You go to Sheriff Daniels, you tell him what's happening, and we handle it."
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that this town, this small mountain community, could protect me in ways Denver couldn't. But I'd learned the hard way that protection was an illusion. Keeping myself safe was my responsibility.
And I'd already failed at that twice.
"I'll think about it." The sentence sounded heavier than I meant it to.
Joanna pressed her lips together. She knew I was lying. But she also knew when to stop pushing.
"You've got my number." She met my eyes, voice firm and certain. "Day or night, Lucy. I mean it."
I nodded because I didn't trust myself to speak.
Back on the floor, I smiled at customers and poured coffee and pretended I couldn't feel my phone burning in my pocket like a bomb waiting to go off.
That night, I sat in the dark with my back against the wall and watched my phone light up.
The café had been agony, every buzz sending my heart into my throat, every unknown number another crack in the fragile calm I'd built. I'd made it through my shift on autopilot, smiling and nodding but dying inside.
At that moment, I was home. As if you could call the apartment home, or call anywhere home, when someone was hunting you.
