Chapter 26
I Need Help
Maliyah
The morning light hit me hard—too bright, too sharp. Every sound felt amplified. The refrigerator hum felt louder than usual. The radiators clanged deeper. Even Zoe's laughter from her room, usually the best sound in the world, made my chest tighten.
I hadn't slept much. I'd stayed up late letting anxiety get to me—watching the cameras obsessively.
My screens swapped from footage to my messages with Reed.
I'd hovered over our text-chain half the night, wanting to tell him that something was wrong.
Wanting to ask for help. But the thought of hearing the tired sympathy in his voice stopped me. Or him not even answering.
I was falling apart from the inside out. Panic crashed through me, washing away any rationality. Every anxious thought multiplied into ten more, each worse than the last.
I must have dozed at some point though. When I woke, I was still sitting up, my phone on my lap.
Looking at the screen, I'd seen a notification that I had a message from Reed.
My heart soared. Had he known I was thinking of him?
Had he heard about my calls to the department or conversations with all the different officers?
Just as quickly, though, my heart plummeted. Unable to bring myself to open it, I'd thrown my phone on the bed like it was on fire before starting to get ready. I couldn't do it. I couldn't give him a piece of myself or let him see me like this. I had no pieces left and no peace inside.
"Mommy, my shoes don't match," Zoe announced, appearing in the kitchen twenty minutes later while I was making their lunches. She was wearing one black patent Mary Jane and one matte black one.
"Close enough," I said absently, my mind focused on what to do next. How to protect my kids.
I turned to find her frowning at me, arms crossed. "You said shoes have to match."
"I did," I said, forcing a smile. "And you're right." I crouched, helping her switch out the matte one. "Now they match."
She smiled, satisfied, then skipped to the table where her brother was hunched over a bowl of cereal, stirring it until it turned soggy.
"Lucas, eat," I said.
He didn't look up. "Do you think Reed would come to my game if I asked?"
The question caught me off guard. My throat closed. That was the first time I'd heard him say Reed's name in several weeks. "No, honey. Reed's... busy with work right now."
His spoon hit the side of the bowl with a sharp clink that echoed through the kitchen.
Lucas's shoulders tensed, his eyes flashing beneath his dark lashes.
"You don't know that!" The words burst from him as his fist tightened around the spoon, milk sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
His voice dropped to something smaller, almost pleading.
"You don't know if you don't ask. I bet you didn’t even ask if he’d come to my birthday. I bet you didn’t! "
I gripped the counter edge until my knuckles whitened, avoiding his eyes.
My voice came out thinner than I wanted.
"Honey, I—" The words stuck. I swallowed hard and busied myself wiping invisible crumbs from the counter.
A car horn blared outside, making me flinch.
I didn't have an answer, so I left the words unsaid.
What could I say? It's all my fault. I’m sorry? Me too? I didn’t ask. I wouldn’t ask.
He didn't say anything else. Just pushed the bowl away, put his elbow on the counter and rested his head on his hand. He turned his face from me and stared at the wall—I knew he was trying not to cry, or maybe he was crying and wouldn’t let me see.
Something inside me cracked. Reed's absence had left a hole in this house that I couldn't fill, and I felt a tear drop from my eye. It's unfair. Everything that we're going through. When does it stop?
On the way to Lucas's school, I stopped at a red light and caught sight of my reflection in the mirror: eyes ringed with exhaustion, lips pressed tight. I looked like someone bracing for impact.
Even the mothers in line at school drop-off looked at me like they knew something was wrong. One actually asked me if they could help me with anything, that I looked "haggard." I wanted to call her a bitch, but she wasn’t wrong. I did look haggard.
When I pulled into the parking lot at Harbor House Road, I didn't get out right away. I sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
The events of the last few weeks haunted me—the coffee, every creak in the house, the flowers.
I swore there were things in my house that had been moved around.
When I checked the footage, there was nothing on it.
The cops were no help. I'd stop calling them with any new issues if I couldn’t prove it was him.
They thought I was just some paranoid crazy woman.
Zoe's voice broke me out of my thoughts.
"Mommy? Can we get out now? I wanna get to art class.
" Shit. How long had I been sitting here?
I ushered her out of the car, walked us inside, and dropped her off with her teacher.
Keeping my shoulders squared, I headed over to my office, trying to look like someone who wasn't falling apart.
"Morning," Danya said, handing me a stack of folders. "You okay? You look..." She hesitated. "You look like you didn't sleep."
"Didn't," I said. "We had a long night."
"With the kids?"
"With everything."
She gave me a look that said she wanted to ask more but didn't. "Well, your donor meeting's at noon. I can reschedule if you're not up for it."
I shook my head, gripping my travel mug so tightly my fingers ached. "No. Keep it." I needed the distraction—even if just for an hour in a room full of people who couldn't possibly know all the crazy going on in my life. A moment of normalcy would be wonderful.
But as the morning wore on, the unease in my chest grew heavier. Every time the door opened, I turned too quickly. Every time the phone rang, my stomach clenched.
Then, just after eleven, the front desk called through the intercom. "Maliyah, remember how you asked the other day about any strange cars hanging around? Well, I think there’s one outside."
I was already halfway to the door.
The monitor showed the front parking lot. A black sedan parked across the street. Same make. Same tint. I could swear it was the same damn car.
"It’s been out there for about an hour. No one got in or out and there isn’t a ride share sign or anything."
"Did you get a plate?" I asked.
"Too far," the receptionist said. "It's just been sitting there. You know, we've been getting a few calls with dead air today too. I answer but no one is there. I just thought there was an issue with the connection. Now, everything just feels weird."
I swallowed hard. "Call it in. Tell them about the calls and the car out front. Let them know I think it's the same vehicle I reported last week."
She nodded, picking up the phone. I stayed frozen, staring at that grainy image until my reflection in the glass—wide eyes, tight jaw—looked like someone else entirely.
Should I be the one to call it in? Yes. But did I want it to be someone else so they wouldn’t think it was me—the crazy lady—again? Yes.
The cruiser showed up fifteen minutes later.
When they pulled up to the car, they got out and knocked on the window.
From where we stood, the window rolled down, but it was impossible to see who was in the car.
The cop stood there, talking and checking their ID.
I saw them wave the car on and then head over to walk our way.
The officer's shoes made a soft-soled noise on the tile as he came in, one hand resting casually on his belt. "Ms. Davenport?" he asked, glancing around the lobby like this was just another errand on a checklist. "Everything alright?"
"I swear that's the same car," I said. "The same one I've reported to you guys before."
He nodded slowly, flipping open his notepad. "We ran the plates. Belong to a rental out of Quincy. Guy's license checked out. He says he was waiting for a client. Real estate agent."
"Did you confirm that? Isn't that weird? A real estate agent using a rental and sitting across the street from a women’s shelter?"
He shrugged one shoulder, tapped his pen against his notepad twice. "Guy had all his paperwork. Real estate license number, business card." His gaze drifted past me to the window where the car had been. "Can't arrest someone for sitting in a legal parking spot."
My stomach dropped. "He's watching this building. He's watching me."
"Ma'am, I understand you've had some trouble recently—"
"Trouble?" My laugh came out brittle. "I have a restraining order. You can't even imagine what I've been through."
The officer's pen hesitated mid-scratch, but his face stayed neutral. "And that order hasn't been violated, technically speaking. There's no proof he approached you or made contact. Or that he's behind all the things you're reporting to us."
"Because he's smart," I snapped. "Because he knows how to make me look crazy."
His expression softened, pity slipping through the professionalism. "I'll file a report and pass it along to the domestic liaison unit, alright? We'll keep an eye out."
He left a card on the desk and walked back toward his cruiser. Outside, the sedan was gone. Just like that. Vanished.
Danya turned to me. "You should go home. Get some rest."
"No. I have work to do. I'd prefer the distraction. Can you let me know when the donors arrive?"
Danya nodded, giving me a look that said she wasn't convinced, but she didn't push.
Home. The word made me nauseous anyway. Work was better. Work meant I didn't have to think about how to keep Zoe and Lucas safe, at least not for the rest of the day.