Mia
Saturday morning at Riverside Park, I push Corey on the swing while Rory hangs upside down from the monkey bars, laughing at something only nine-year-olds find hilarious.
"Higher, Mom!" Corey shouts.
I push harder, watching him soar. For a moment, I let myself forget about Kyle's manufactured evidence, the school board investigation, and my father's rejection.
"Mom, when can we see Grandpa Robert again?" Rory drops from the monkey bars, brushing wood chips from his hands. "He promised to tell us more firefighter stories."
The question hits like a physical blow. "Grandpa isn't feeling well right now, sweetheart. He needs to rest."
The lie tastes bitter. My father isn't just sick, he's rejected me completely, and by extension, his grandsons. But how do I explain that to two nine-year-olds who just met their grandfather?
"Is it because of us?" Rory's voice is small. "Did we do something wrong?"
"No!" I kneel in front of him, gripping his shoulders. "Absolutely not. Grandpa Robert loves you both. He's just dealing with some grown-up stuff that has nothing to do with you."
We spend another hour at the park, but the joy has leaked out of the morning. The twins are quieter on the drive home, sensing something is wrong.
Back at the apartment, I set them up with video games and retreat to my bedroom with my laptop. The guilt from lying to my sons fuels a different kind of determination. If I can't fix things with my father, at least I can protect my children from Kyle Jorgenson.
I start with a basic Google search of Kyle's name, then dig deeper through social media, news archives, and public records. The pattern emerges slowly, like a photograph developing in a darkroom.
Kyle attended Westbrook Preparatory Academy before Riverside.
A deeper search through local news archives reveals a brief mention of a teacher filing a restraining order against a student.
No names are listed, but the timeline matches Kyle's enrollment.
After some digging and sleuthing, I find the teacher's name: Jennifer Matthews, now teaching at a school three towns away.
My hands shake as I compose a message explaining my situation. Within an hour, she responds.
I wondered when someone would reach out about Kyle. Can you meet tomorrow morning? There's a coffee shop called The Daily Grind in Millbrook. Ten a.m.?
I confirm immediately, then continue my research.
Kyle's second school was Riverside Prep.
He lasted less than a year before transferring to Riverside Academy.
Again, no official explanation, but I find a mention in the school newspaper about a senior girl who transferred mid-year after "personal circumstances. "
The pieces fit together like a puzzle I wish I'd never started assembling. Kyle has a pattern. A history. And I'm just his latest target.
That evening, after tucking the twins into bed, I lie awake staring at the ceiling. My phone sits on the nightstand, silent. No texts from Jack, Blake, or Noah. They're giving me space, but the silence feels oppressive.
Sunday morning arrives with gray skies that match my mood. I drop the twins at Noah's apartment, where Maya, Ethan, and Sophie are visiting for the day. The kids immediately disappear into the living room, their laughter echoing down the hallway.
Noah appears in the doorway wearing jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his lean forearms. His green eyes are warm behind his glasses as they meet mine.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
"I will be." I rise on my toes and kiss him softly, drawing strength from the contact. "Thank you for watching them."
"Anytime." His hand finds the small of my back, pulling me closer. "Call if you need anything."
The drive to Millbrook takes forty minutes. The Daily Grind is a small coffee shop tucked between a bookstore and a yoga studio. Jennifer Matthews sits at a corner table, hands wrapped around a mug. She's prettier than her LinkedIn photo suggested, with auburn hair and sharp features.
"Mia?" She stands, extending her hand. "Thank you for meeting me."
We settle into our seats. The weight of what we're about to discuss hangs between us.
"How bad is it?" Jennifer asks.
"My classroom was vandalized. Threatening notes. Photos taken through windows. He's filed a harassment complaint against me and the men in my life, claiming we're conspiring against him."
Jennifer's expression darkens. "That's his pattern. Make himself the victim while systematically destroying his target."
"Tell me everything."
She takes a deep breath. "Kyle was in my junior English class. Bright kid, excellent writer, but there was something off about him from the start. The way he'd stare during lectures, like he was memorizing every detail of my face."
I nod, recognizing the behavior immediately.
"It started small. Coffee on my desk. Notes saying he appreciated my teaching. Then it escalated. He gave me expensive gifts. A leather-bound journal with my initials. A first edition of my favorite book that must have cost hundreds of dollars."
She shakes her head with a frown. "The gifts are about establishing a connection, creating obligation. When I told him his attention was inappropriate, his whole demeanor changed. He got this cold, calculating look."
A chill runs through me. I've seen that look.
"The journal entries were the worst. He'd submit creative writing assignments that were clearly fantasies about me. Detailed scenarios of us together. They got darker. More possessive."
"What did the school do?"
"Initially? Nothing. They said I was overreacting, that teenage boys develop crushes and I should be flattered. It wasn't until my classroom was vandalized that they started taking it seriously."
My stomach drops. "Mine was too, but we don't have any proof that he's behind it? How did he vandalize your classroom?"
"The same things you probably saw. Whore. Slut. Accusations about my morals. But the worst part was the photos. He'd been taking pictures of me through my classroom windows, through my car windows, even through my home windows. He had hundreds of them."
The coffee in my stomach turns to acid. "How did they prove it was him?"
"His journal. The school finally searched his locker after the vandalism and found detailed plans.
He'd written out exactly how he was going to isolate me from my husband, how he'd make me dependent on him, how he'd eliminate anyone who got in his way.
" Jennifer meets my eyes. "Kyle isn't just obsessed, Mia.
He's dangerous. Methodical. Patient. He won't stop until he either possesses you or destroys you completely. "
The words settle over me like a death sentence. "What happened to him?"
"Expelled. His parents threw money at the problem and got the records sealed. He transferred to another school where the same pattern started again with a senior girl. She was smart enough to transfer away before it escalated too far."
"And now he's at Riverside Academy. With me."
Jennifer reaches across the table, her hand covering mine. "You need to document everything. Every interaction, every gift, every look. Build a case that's so airtight his parents' money can't make it disappear."
"I'm trying. But he's already turned it around, made himself the victim. And I've been put on administrative leave."
"That's what he does best. But you have something I didn't. You have people who believe you, who are willing to fight for you. Use that. Don't let him isolate you the way he tried to isolate me."
We talk for another hour, Jennifer sharing details about Kyle's escalation patterns, his manipulation tactics, and the warning signs I should watch for. By the time I leave, my head is spinning with information, and my chest is tight with fear.
The drive home passes in a blur. Jennifer's words echo in my mind. He won't stop until he either possesses you or destroys you completely.
After picking the boys up from Noah's, I pull into my apartment complex as the sun sets, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that feel too beautiful for the darkness closing in around me. That's when I see him.
Marcus leans against my apartment door, holding white takeout containers that I recognize immediately. Chinese food from Golden Dragon, the twins' favorite restaurant.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I consider driving away, but he's already seen me. Already straightening with that confident smile that used to make my heart flutter and now just makes my skin crawl.
I cut the engine and force myself out of the car. "Marcus. What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to spend time with the boys." He holds up the containers while smiling and the twins. "Brought their favorite. Orange chicken for Rory, sweet and sour pork for Corey."
The fact that he remembers their preferences shouldn't surprise me, but the casual way he shows up uninvited sets my teeth on edge.
"You should have called first," I say in a low tone even as the twins clap their hands and thank Marcus for the treat. I unlock the door and let the kids go inside.
"Would you have said yes?"
I glare at him. I'm not an idiot. He showed up like this and gave Rory and Corey their dinners, so there was no way I could say no.
"Fine. But just for dinner."
Inside, I set the table while Marcus makes himself comfortable on my couch.
Dinner is torture. Marcus is charming with the boys, asking about school and their new friends, and playing video games after we eat. He's everything a father figure should be: attentive, engaged, genuinely interested in their lives.
But it's just an act.
After I tuck the twins into bed, I return to the living room to find Marcus still on my couch. He's shed his jacket, looking comfortable in a way that sets my nerves on edge.
"They're good kids," he says. "You've done well with them."
"Thank you." I keep my voice neutral, professional.
Marcus leans forward. "I've been hearing things, Mia. About your troubles at school. The suspension. The rumors about multiple men."
My stomach drops. "That's none of your business."
"Isn't it?" He stands and moves closer, his hand finding my knee. "The boys need stability. A proper family structure. I can give them that."
I push his hand away and stand, putting the coffee table between us. "We've been through this. Our relationship ended for good reasons."
"Did it?" His expression hardens. "Or did you just run away like you always do when things get complicated?"
"I didn't run. I left because you were controlling and manipulative."
"I was trying to help you!" His voice rises before he catches himself, glancing toward the hallway. "You had nothing when we met. No job, no money, and two babies to support. I gave you stability. I gave those boys a father figure."
"And you never let me forget it. This conversation is over. You're beating a dead horse and, honestly, I'm sick of it. Nothing is going to change, so you might as well give up now."
Marcus moves toward the door, and relief floods through me. But he pauses with his hand on the knob, turning back with cold calculation in his eyes.
"If you won't come back to me willingly, I'll file for custody of the boys." His voice is calm, matter-of-fact. "I'll claim you're an unfit mother involved in an immoral relationship with multiple men. And any judge will see I'm the better parent."