14
Amara
E nzo Ricci would be the death of me. He was infuriating, insufferable, deranged…
And he set my blood on fire.
I couldn’t look at his smirking face and concentrate. He was the bane of my existence, but I couldn’t get enough.
“Amara?” my divorce lawyer asked, tapping his pen loudly. “You there?”
I gave my head a clearing shake before I focused back on him. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Look, I know this is difficult stuff, but we need to get these papers drawn up,” he reminded me. “We know he will refuse, so ask for everything upfront. That way, we have wiggle room to negotiate. ”
“If that’s what you think works best,” I shrugged. “I don’t have any experience with these types of situations.”
“Not surprising,” he nodded. “I can send these out today if that’s good with you.”
“That works for me,” I mumbled, looking at the time. “I actually have to go. I have an appointment at noon.”
He snorted. “Figures, that’s the only time I can squeeze in my appointments, too. If you have any questions, I’m right down the hall.”
“Thanks, Earl,” I stood, dusting off my suit pants. “I’ll see you later.”
It’d been a week since I last saw Enzo, and he transferred my retainer to my bank account. Since my social worker appointment was in the next town, I got a used car. I planned on slowly reaching out to my family again and wanted a way to get to them without relying on a bus.
I stopped by my office, looking at the latest letter from Enzo.
Amara,
Seven days. Time goes by slower the longer I go without seeing you. But I have one word for you, baby. Soon.
-Enzo
I shivered, both rolling my eyes and smiling. Soon was our code word, meaning Enzo planned to escape prison again. I wondered how he’d do it since he was still in solitary confinement, but he wouldn’t share the details with me in letters. I just had to trust that he would do it.
I rolled my eyes because I knew he would catch another charge and nullify his defense in our current case.
I grabbed a pen, and it rasped against the paper as I wrote my reply.
Enzo,
The divorce papers are drafted and should be delivered today. We should celebrate. Soon.
-Amara
I kissed the letter, leaving a smear of my lipstick before I neatly stuffed it in an envelope, addressed and stamped it, grabbed my lunch, and headed out the door.
Walking home, I slid the letter into the mailbox, fumbling for my keys. I unlocked my car, climbed inside, and started eating lunch as I returned to Ashwood .
Lockwood was a nice town, but it was a ten-minute drive from Ashwood, so it was a pain in the ass to visit Enzo every week without a car. I was glad I had a reliable method of transportation.
I scarfed down my turkey sandwich, downing it with a bottle of water I had left in my car before I arrived at the shelter.
The lady at the front desk recognized me and buzzed me through, and I sat in the waiting room until my social worker came to get me.
“How’ve you been?” she enthused as I sat across her in her office.
“Better,” I admitted. “I changed my number and haven’t heard from Mark so far.”
“Good, good. How’s work?” Sylvia asked, pulling out her notebook and jotting notes.
“Hectic,” I admitted as I tried not to blush.
“I bet,” she agreed. “But you’ve got to get back on the horse after so many years of not working.”
“My lawyer’s serving Mark the divorce papers today,” I added.
My social worker paused before she looked me in the eye, frowning. “How do you feel about that? ”
“Apprehensive, but sure,” I answered.
“I have to warn you,” she intoned. “Abusers get more reactive and violent once divorce proceedings start. You may hear from Mark again.”
“He doesn’t have my phone number or address,” I informed her.
“Social media,” Sylvia shot back. “If you’re listed on your workplace’s website, he could find you in a simple online search and blow up your job. They tend to find a way.”
My heart seized in my chest. Sylvia was right. I wouldn’t put it past Mark to make fake social media accounts or try to find me.
I could barely pay attention to her next questions as the icy cold hand of fear gripped my heart tighter and tighter. Would Mark somehow find me? What if he saw my car here and followed me home?
“Well, that’s all the time we have today,” my social worker announced. “You want to see me weekly, bi-monthly?”
“I’ll call you,” I decided. I would rather keep it bi-weekly, but I’d need to see her more often if Mark started up again .
“Okay. Take care of yourself,” Sylvia encouraged, rising to her feet. “Let me walk you out.”
My hands trembled, so I balled them into fists as I walked to my car, not paying attention to whether Sylvia was following me. I got in my car and groaned, realizing I was low on gas. I pulled into the nearest gas station, selected the cheapest gas, and started filling my car.
“Amara?” a voice called. “Is that you?”
I froze. I heard that voice a few times when I called Mark’s work.
“Erin,” I gritted to my husband’s pregnant secretary. “Leave me alone.”
“Is this a joke?” she screeched, throwing papers at me, and I could guess it was the divorce papers. “You want everything Mark worked so hard for, even the house? You really are just a gold-digging whore.”
“I’m not the one carrying an affair baby,” I muttered, removing the nozzle and hanging it up. I’d rather fill up in Lockwood than deal with this woman a second longer. At least I put in enough gas to make it there.
Erin went to slap me, but I dodged her, and she stumbled, falling to her knees .
“You seem to like that position a lot,” I mused, getting in my car. “Maybe next time, try it on someone single, homewrecker.”
I slammed my door shut, hearing Erin screeching at me, but I didn’t care. I sped off, not looking back.
My heart pounded, and a thrill rushed through me. I’d never defended myself like that, and it felt good. How dare Erin try to make me out to be the bad guy when he was sneaking around behind my back.
And thank goodness I wouldn’t stay married to Mark for long.
As I pulled into the Lockwood gas station, my phone rang. It showed up as an unknown caller. Cringing, I picked up as I put the gas nozzle in my car. “Branson,” I announced.
“Yeah, that’s right bitch, you’ve still got my last name, and don’t you fucking forget it,” Mark spat on the other line.
I looked around as my heart froze, dread creeping into my veins. It hadn’t taken long before Erin ran to him, crying about our altercation.
“How did you get this number?” I demanded .
“You don’t get to question me,” he snarled. “As much as it sickens me, you’re still my wife, and I’ll be damned if you endanger the mother of my child.”
“Believe what you want,” I breathed. “But if you sign the papers, we can move on and never speak again.”
“You aren’t getting a penny from me,” he snapped.
“Hmm, we’ll see about that. From now on, you can contact my lawyer; any contact with me directly after this call will be considered harassment. Goodbye, Mark,” I sighed before I hung up the phone.
I put it on silent, knowing he would blow it up and I would have a case to change my number again with my phone company.
When I finished gassing up, I drove to my home, where Sylvia was waiting for me at the door. I groaned, having wholly forgotten our appointment as I parked.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I ran into my ex’s mistress, and now he’s blowing up my phone.”
She frowned as I let her inside, explaining everything that happened when I ran into Erin and the phone call with Mark .
“How many times has he called you since then?” she questioned, gesturing to my phone.
I looked at it, rolling my eyes at the missed calls. “Twenty-two, oh, twenty-three, Mark’s calling me now.”
“Private caller,” Sylvia frowned. “He’s hiding his number, so you can’t prove it’s him, so you can’t file harassment charges.”
“If he leaves a voicemail, I could,” I mused, sending a quick text to my lawyer with a screenshot of the call log. “I’ll wait to change my number until tomorrow night; maybe he’ll be so mad he’ll leave a voicemail. He hasn’t left one yet.”
“You’ll have to leave your phone on silent,” she frowned. “What if there’s an emergency?”
“If it’s bad enough, a coworker can run down here and get me,” I shrugged.
“Well, if it gets bad enough, the police might convince a judge to subpoena yours and his phone records to prove it was him. But it has to be pretty bad,” Sylvia informed as she wrote in her notebook. “Do you have a busy week planned?”
“I have an appointment with my client tomorrow,” I admitted. “The cases are very complex, so I barely have time to look at other cases right now.”
“Cases for one client? Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” Sylvia commented.
“You have no idea,” I mumbled.