I pulled it out gently.
It was the note. The one she’d taped to her leg.
Mom, don’t argue. He may be armed.
She’d kept it.
I smoothed it flat and set it on the nightstand.
Evidence.
Proof.
A reminder that she’d been brave enough to ask for help when it mattered most.
I kissed her forehead and whispered, “I’ve got you.”
Then I went to my own room and lay down in the dark.
Sleep didn’t come easy.
Every sound made me tense.
Every shadow looked like him.
But Emily was safe.
And that was enough.
The next morning, I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of voices in the kitchen.
Thomas was at the stove making eggs.
Diane was on her phone, already calling locksmiths.
And Emily was at the table, wrapped in a blanket, holding a mug in both hands.
She looked up when I came in.
“Morning,” she said softly.
“Morning, baby.”
“I didn’t think I’d sleep.”
“But you did.”
“Yeah.” She took a sip of coffee. “I did.”
I sat down next to her.
“How do you feel?”
She thought about it.
“Tired. Scared. Relieved.” She paused. “Angry.”
“Good.”
