7. Olivia #3
"You're not dragging me anywhere." Marsha's eyes flashed. "I'm offering. You shouldn't be alone right now while we sort this out."
"I have to be." I stood, needing distance, needing air. "I can't—I won't—Marsha, if he finds out you helped me, if he knows where you live—"
"He's not going to hurt me."
"You don't know that." The numbness cracked slightly, letting fear bleed through. "You don't know what he's capable of when he wants to punish someone."
But I do.
Marsha rose too, crossing the small space to grip my shoulders. "Listen to me. You are not responsible for protecting me. That's not your job."
"I don't… I want you safe." The words slipped out before I could stop them. Quiet. Tired. True.
Marsha's face softened in a way that made my chest ache. She squeezed my shoulders once, then let go and stepped back, giving me space I desperately needed.
"Okay." She pulled herself together—shoulders straightening, expression shifting into the practical, problem-solving mode I'd seen her wear a hundred times before. "Then let's focus on what we can control."
I nodded, wrapping my arms around my middle.
"First—stay aware of your surroundings." Marsha ticked points off on her fingers, voice steady and measured. "Don't walk anywhere alone after dark if you can help it. Vary your routes home. Notice if anyone follows you or shows up in the same places repeatedly."
The instructions landed like stones dropping into my stomach. Each one a reminder that my life had just shifted back into survival mode.
"Keep your phone charged. Always. I want to be able to reach you, and I want you to be able to call for help if you need it." She met my eyes, holding my gaze until I nodded. "If anything feels wrong—anything—you call me immediately. I don't care what time it is."
"Okay."
"Report anything unusual to the police. Unfamiliar cars, strangers asking about you, letters or packages—" Her voice tightened slightly. "Even if it seems like nothing. Create a paper trail."
Paper trails don't stop fists.
The thought whispered through my mind before I could block it. I swallowed hard, forcing the panic back down where it belonged.
"Consider changing your routines," Marsha continued. "If you always leave work at the same time, shift it. Take different entrances. Make yourself harder to predict."
Each instruction built a cage around my chest, squeezing tighter.
I just got free. And now I have to live like prey again.
"I'll file for a protective order tomorrow morning," Marsha said, though something heavy settled into her expression. "First thing. Emergency hearing if I can get one."
"Will it work?" The question came out smaller than I intended.
Marsha hesitated. That pause told me everything.
"It might," she said carefully. "But Liv—protective orders are only as good as the people willing to enforce them. And your father—" She stopped. Started again. "He's never respected boundaries before."
He won't start now.
The unspoken truth hung between us like smoke.
Dread pooled in my stomach, cold and heavy. I forced myself to breathe through it—slow, measured breaths that didn't quite reach deep enough to calm the trembling working its way up from my core.
Be strong. You've survived worse. You can do this.
But my hands shook when I shoved them into my pockets. My jaw ached from clenching too hard. The numbness I'd wrapped around myself started cracking at the edges, letting fear leak through in thin, vicious streams.
"You're not alone in this." Marsha stepped closer, voice gentler now. "I know it feels like you are, but you're not. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to let those words settle into the hollow spaces inside me and fill them with something warm and solid.
But belief felt dangerous. Hope felt worse.
"Thank you." I managed to meet her eyes. "For coming. For telling me."
"Of course, sweetheart." Marsha pulled me into another hug—tighter this time, fierce and protective. "We'll figure this out."
I clung to her for one second too long. Let myself be fourteen again, terrified and broken, held together only by this woman's stubborn refusal to let me disappear.
Then I let go.
Marsha squeezed my shoulder once more before heading toward the door. She paused on the threshold, looking back with worry etched into every line of her face.
"Lock this behind me. And remember—if anything feels wrong, you call me."
"I will."
The door clicked shut.
I turned the deadbolt. Then the chain. Then checked both again even though my hands had done it right the first time.
The apartment felt smaller suddenly. Walls pressing closer. Shadows deepening in corners that had seemed safe five minutes ago.
My legs gave out.
I slid down with my back pressed against the door, knees pulled to my chest, breathing too fast and too shallow.
I thought I'd finally escaped him.
The truth crashed over me in waves—relentless, suffocating, impossible to outrun.
Monsters didn't stay gone. They circled back.
And if my father was out, it was only a matter of time before he found me.