6. Ellie
ELLIE
It only takes about twenty minutes for Miles to show up at my front door. Like it’s his business who I’m out with. We’ve been divorced for three years. He just can’t give up.
I open the door and he’s standing there with that look—the one that says he thinks he’s the only man who can protect me from the world.
“Who is he?” Miles asks without even saying hello.
“None of your business,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, not inviting him in.
“Come on. You know I worry.”
“You lost the right to worry when you decided Sarah was more interesting than our marriage.”
He winces. Good. It still hurts him to hear it out loud.
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither was cheating.” I cross my arms. “Why are you really here, Miles?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at my welcome mat—the one he never liked because it says ‘Go Away’ in cheerful letters. “Megan told me you were out with someone. Said he looked dangerous.”
“So you appointed yourself my personal security detail?”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Better than fine.” I straighten up. “And Julian isn’t dangerous.” I start to close the door. “Goodnight, Miles.”
He stops the door with his foot. “Ellie, wait. There’s actually something else I need to tell you.”
I sigh, hand still on the doorknob. “What is it now?”
“Can I come in? Just for a minute.”
Every instinct tells me to shut the door in his face, but something in his expression makes me hesitate. It’s not the usual Miles confidence. There’s worry there. Real worry.
“Don’t you always have ‘something else’ to tell me?” I sigh, but I don’t close the door completely. I’ve known him long enough to recognize when there’s actual concern behind his overprotective act.
Miles shifts his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s about Rick Denton.”
My stomach drops at the name. “What about him?”
“He’s out.”
“Out of what? Prison?” My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm.
Miles nods. “Got released yesterday. Good behavior or some bullshit. I just found out.”
I take an involuntary step back. “And you think he might...”
“I don’t know,” Miles says, his voice softening. “But he made those threats against you, and he blames you for being sent to prison.”
The night air suddenly feels colder. I wrap my arms around myself, hating that I feel vulnerable. Hating even more that Miles is witnessing it.
“You should have called instead of showing up like this.”
“Would you have answered?”
I don’t respond because we both know the answer.
“Look,” Miles continues, “I’m not trying to scare you or use this as an excuse to insert myself into your life. I just thought you should know.”
Part of me wants to tell him to leave, that I can handle this myself. But another part—the practical part—knows this isn’t about our failed marriage or his guilt or my lingering anger.
“I’ll be careful.”
He leans a little closer. “I let my guys know. So they might be patrolling your street more, just to be safe.”
“You think that’s necessary?”
“I think it’s better to be overly cautious than not cautious enough.” He finally removes his foot from my doorway. “And Ellie? This Julian guy...”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Just... make sure he’s someone who would stand between you and trouble, not someone who brings it to your door.”
I almost laugh. “Funny advice coming from you.”
A flash of hurt crosses his face, but he accepts the jab with a slight nod. “Fair enough. Goodnight.”
I watch him walk back to his car, noticing how his shoulders slump slightly. For a moment, I almost call out to him, but I stop myself. We’ve been down this road too many times.
I close the door and double-check the lock. My phone buzzes on the coffee table—a text.
Julian: Everything okay?
How do I even explain any of this to him? He doesn’t need to be sucked into my drama.
Me: Yeah, he’s just checking on me.
Julian: Should I be worried? Concerned?
I stare at my phone, unsure how to respond. Telling him about my potentially dangerous ex-con situation feels like too much too soon.
Me: Nope. Just ex-husband drama. All good.
I set my phone down, walking to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. My hand trembles slightly as I fill the glass. Rick Denton. I haven’t thought about him in over two years. The memory of his red face, spittle flying as he screamed threats at me outside the courthouse, makes my skin crawl.
My phone buzzes again.
Julian: If you say so. But I’m here if you need anything. Even just to talk.
He’s sweet. Too sweet maybe. The kind of sweet that makes me suspicious after Miles. I take a long sip of wine and try to focus on the present, not the past or the what-ifs of the future.
Me: Thanks. I’m good. Just tired. Talk tomorrow?
Julian: Of course. Sleep well, beautiful.
I stare at the beautiful part. Did Julian think tonight was a date? Had I read his intentions wrong? Don’t get me wrong, he is good-looking, but getting close to someone like that right now, especially now, seems like a mistake. I need to be on my A game.
I set my phone down and lean against the counter, scanning my kitchen as if seeing it through new eyes—potential entry points, hiding places. I hate that Miles has made me paranoid. But what if he’s right? What if Rick really does hold a grudge?
I move through my house, checking locks on windows and doors, drawing curtains closed. When I reach the guest bedroom, I pause at the closet. Inside, on the top shelf behind some old photo albums, is the small lockbox Miles insisted I keep after we separated. I haven’t opened it since.
With a sigh, I drag a chair over and reach for the box. The key is taped to the underside of my jewelry box, where it’s been gathering dust. Inside the lockbox is a 9mm handgun—another one of Miles’ paranoid precautions from his days as a detective.
“Just in case,” he’d said when he gave it to me. “You know how to use it.”
I do know how to use it. Miles insisted on taking me to the range regularly during our marriage. I was a decent shot. But I’ve never liked guns.
I close the box without taking it out and return it to its hiding place. Having it there is one thing. Actually preparing to use it is another level of fear I’m not ready to embrace.
My phone rings from the kitchen, startling me. When I see the caller ID, I almost don’t answer.
“Megan,” I say flatly when I pick up.
“Did Miles come over?” My sister-in-law—correction, ex-sister-in-law—sounds worried.
“Yes, thanks to you.”
“Don’t be mad. I was concerned.”
I walk back to the living room, wine in hand. “About what? That I might actually enjoy someone’s company?”
“That’s not fair,” Megan says. I can practically see her pouting through the phone. “You have to admit…you don’t know him that well.”
“That’s generally how getting to know someone works, Megan.” I take another sip of wine, sinking onto my couch.
“Miles was just?—”
“Miles was just being Miles,” I interrupt. “Overprotective and controlling, even though we’re not together anymore.”
There’s a pause on the line. “Did he tell you about Rick?”
My heart skips. “You knew too?”
“Miles told me this afternoon. He was worried.”
I lean my head back against the cushions, closing my eyes. “Great. So everyone knows about my potential stalker situation except me.”
“He wasn’t sure how to tell you,” Megan says, her voice softening. “He thought you might not take it seriously if it came from him.”
“So he used it as an excuse to check up on my date?”
“No. Well, maybe a little.” She sighs. “Look, I know you’re still mad at him. You have every right to be. But he still cares about you.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
“He’s flawed. Deeply flawed. But his concern for your safety is genuine.”
I don’t respond, because I know she’s right. Miles, for all his faults, would never let anything happen to me if he could help it. That was always our problem—he tried to protect me from everything, including living my own life.
“Just... be careful, okay?” Megan continues. “Not just about Rick. About everything.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Are you? Because Julian seems nice, but?—”
“Stop.” I cut her off. “I appreciate the concern, but I don’t need everyone micromanaging my love life.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it?” I finish my wine in one gulp. “I need to go, Megan. It’s been a long night.”
After we hang up, I sit in the silence of my living room, feeling restless. I should be tired, but adrenaline is still coursing through me. The mention of Rick has awakened old anxieties I thought I’d buried.
I pull out my laptop and hesitate before typing his name into the search bar. Several results come up—mostly old news articles about his arrest. There’s nothing recent, nothing about his release.
I switch to social media, but his profiles seem dormant. Maybe he doesn’t hold a grudge. Maybe he’s moved on, forgotten all about me and Miles.
Or maybe he’s just being careful.