So that's the ex-boyfriend. The piece of shit who abandoned her. I should stay out of it. This isn't my business. These people aren't my problem.
But my feet are already carrying me toward the door.
The memory of fighting my own father at eighteen flashes through my mind. The way he grabbed my arm when I tried to leave, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "You'll never make it without us. You're too weak. You'll be dead within a year."
I proved him wrong. And I've made it my mission to help people who are trapped like I was.
Outside, the late morning sun is warmer now. I cross my yard in long strides, my boots heavy on the ground. The three people on the porch are so focused on the door they don't notice me approaching until I'm right behind them.
"Problem here?" I ask, my voice low and steady.
They all spin around. The older couple look exactly like what I expected. Middle-class, probably mid-fifties, dressed nice enough to show they've got money but not enough to be rich. The kind of people who care a lot about what the neighbors think.
The younger guy, Marcus, looks like every douchebag I've ever wanted to punch. Clean-cut, polo shirt, khakis. The kind of guy who's never had to fight for anything in his life.
"This is a private matter," the older man says, puffing up his chest. "We're dealing with family business."
"Didn't sound private when I could hear you shouting from inside my house." I gesture to my place next door. "Sounded like harassment."
"We're her parents," the older woman says, her voice taking on that reasonable tone that grates on my nerves. "We're trying to help our daughter see sense."
"By screaming at her door? Yeah, that sounds real helpful."
Marcus steps forward, his jaw tight. "Look, man, you don't know the situation. Just mind your own business."
I smile, but there's nothing friendly in it. This is the smile I learned in bar fights, the one that says I'm done talking. "Here's the thing… She told you to leave. Multiple times. That makes it my business because I don't like bullies."
"Bullies?" The older man's face flushes red. "How dare you! We're trying to save our grandson from a girl who can't take care of him!"
"Ruby!" Marcus pounds on the door again. "Come on, baby. You know I still care about you. We can work this out. I'll help you raise him. Just open the door."
The manipulation is so thick I can taste it. This asshole abandoned her when she needed him most, and now he's pretending to be the hero?
"She doesn't want you here," I say, my voice dropping lower. "Any of you. Time to leave."
"Or what?" Marcus turns to face me fully now, trying to size me up. I'm taller than him by a few inches, and broader through the shoulders. But he's got that confidence that comes from never really getting hit before.
"Or I make you leave." I crack my knuckles slowly. "Your choice."
The older woman gasps. "Are you threatening us?"
"I'm telling you to get off her property before this gets ugly."
"We have rights!" the older man says. "That's our grandson in there!"
"And she's an adult who told you to fuck off. So, fuck off."
Marcus's hands curl into fists. "You think you're tough? I played football in college, asshole."
I laugh, the sound harsh. "I worked at a lumber mill and ride with an MC. Your college football career doesn't mean shit to me."
The door opens a crack, making all of us look over. A woman peers out. Young, maybe twenty, with short ginger hair and pale skin covered in freckles. Her beautiful hazel eyes are wide with fear. She's holding a baby on her hip, a little boy with the same ginger hair.
"Please," she says, her voice shaking. "Please just leave. I'm begging you."
She looks exhausted, like she hasn't slept in days. Like she's been running and hiding and barely surviving. I know that look. I wore it myself once.
"Ruby, sweetheart." The older woman's voice turns sugary sweet. "We just want to talk. Let us inside. We can discuss this like adults."
