And I had no idea what to do.
The kettle sat empty on the stove. I'd made tea because it was something to do, something to offer, some small gesture that felt inadequate against the weight of what she'd just told me. Her ex. The texts. The break-in. Three weeks of escalating threats while I'd been living twelve feet away, listening to her cry through the walls and doing nothing.
Take care of Lucy. Promise me.
Mateo's voice echoed in my head the way it always did. But tonight it felt different. Tonight thepromise wasn't abstract anymore, wasn't something I could keep from a distance by making sure she got home safe and her lights turned on. Tonight it had shown up on my doorstep, shaking and scared, and I couldn't pretend I was just a neighbor anymore.
I crossed to the chair across from her and sat. The distance felt important. Close enough that she'd know I was there. Far enough that she wouldn't feel crowded.
"Tell me about him," I said.
Lucy looked up from her mug, startled. Like she hadn't expected me to ask. As if she'd expected me to hand her a blanket and disappear.
"You don't have to," I added. "But if someone's threatening you, I need to know what we're dealing with."
We.The word slipped out before I could stop it. I watched her register it, saw something flicker in her eyes.
"His name is Evan." Her voice was steadier now, the tea or the warmth or just the act of sitting somewhere safe working some kind of magic. "We dated in high school. Before..."
She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
Before Mateo.
"He was charming at first. They always are, right?" A bitter smile crossed her face. "By the time I realized what he really was, I was already in too deep. It took me two years to get out. And even then, he didn't let go easy."
I didn't say anything. Just listened, the way I'dlearned to do for work. Sometimes people needed to talk more than they needed answers.
"I thought he was gone. He enlisted, shipped out, and I thought that was the end of it. Then I met Mateo, and everything was different. Everything was good." Her hands tightened on the mug. "After Mateo died, I went to Denver because I couldn't stay here. I couldn't face the memories. And somehow, eighteen months ago, Evan found me."
"Found you how?"
"I don't know. Social media, maybe. People we knew from high school. It doesn't matter how. What matters is that he did." She took a breath. "It started with texts. Then phone calls. Then he started showing up at my work, watching me through the windows. Then he broke into my apartment."
My hands curled into fists against my knees. "Did you report it?"
"Of course I reported it. Filed a police report, got a restraining order. And you know what he did?" Another bitter smile. "He laughed. Kept coming anyway. The restraining order just made him angrier."
I thought about the men I'd known like that. The ones who can’t take no for an answer,who couldn't accept that someone might not want them. The ones who treated other people like property to be claimed, not people that need to be respected.
"So you came back here," I said.
Lucy nodded. "The last place he'd think to look. We never lived here together, I never talked about itmuch. I used my mother's maiden name, kept my head down, tried to be invisible." She laughed, and it was the saddest sound I'd ever heard. "Worked for six months. I thought maybe I'd finally lose him."
"Until tonight."
"The texts started three weeks ago. I kept telling myself it was nothing, wrong numbers, just coincidence. But then they got more specific. He knew where I worked. Knew where I lived." She looked down at her hands. "And tonight, I found my door open, and it wasn’t me."
Silence settled between us. I could hear the building creaking around us, the distant sound of traffic, the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. The kind of sounds that were supposed to mean you were home.
"We're going to the sheriff tomorrow," I said.
Her head snapped up. "Cal, I told you. Reporting him made things worse. It just made him angrier, more determined?—"
"That was Denver." I kept my voice even, steady. "This is West Valley Springs. Sheriff Daniels has known me for years. He takes this stuff seriously, and he doesn't let things slide because some guy thinks he's above the law."
Lucy shook her head, but I could see something shifting in her expression. Hope, maybe. Or just exhaustion finally cracking through the resistance.
"You're staying here until we know you're safe," I continued. "I'll take the couch. You can have the bedroom."
