12. Ellie
ELLIE
I did not expect that. Especially after only a couple of dates. But something about us… it doesn’t feel like that. Somehow, I trust him more than I ever did Miles.
My ex-husband has always been there, but not in the same way. Sometimes it’s hard in a small town. There are only so many decent men and for the most part, he treated me good. Until he didn’t.
When I found out he was sleeping with her… my whole worldview changed. I had been the good wife. Made sure he had dinner ready when he got home. Made sure his needs were fulfilled, but still felt so empty at the end of the day.
And now because of Julian… I know exactly why. He did things on his terms. Only things that benefitted him. And that’s why it never worked out between us.
Julian has always communicated. Hell, he fulfilled my needs more in one night than Miles did in twelve years. Honestly, I don’t think he ever went into sex wanting to make sure I got off. It was always about him. And with Julian… it’s all about me.
“I’m right next door. That prick isn’t getting anywhere near you. But the police need to know. Even though you don’t want him in your business, this is his job. He can’t protect you from what he doesn’t know about.”
I sigh, knowing he is right. “Fine. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
Julian’s eyes soften as he reaches across the table, his hand covering mine. “I’ll go with you if you want.”
That’s the thing about Julian. He doesn’t just offer solutions—he offers himself alongside them. Not to take over, but to support.
“Thank you,” I whisper, turning my palm up to intertwine our fingers. “It’s just... embarrassing, you know? Everyone in town will find out.”
“They’ll find out you’re standing up for yourself. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I wonder what I did to deserve someone like him walking into my life just when I needed it most.
“Miles never took no for an answer. Not just with sex. With everything. My opinions, my dreams, what I wanted to do with the house... he’d smile and nod, then do whatever he wanted, anyway.”
Julian’s jaw tightens. “That’s not happening anymore. Not while I’m around.”
For the first time in years, I believe those words when someone says them. There’s something solid about Julian—something I can actually lean on without fear of it crumbling beneath me.
“Stay tonight,” I blurt out. “Not for... that. Just stay. Please.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll be right here. As long as you need.”
And I know, with absolute certainty, that he means it.
The next day, I wake up to the smell of coffee and something sweet. For a moment, I’m disoriented—there’s warmth beside me that I’m not used to. Julian is sitting up against the headboard, fully clothed, reading something on his phone. He hasn’t noticed I’m awake yet.
Last night comes flooding back. After our conversation, we’d moved to the couch. I’d cried—really cried—for the first time since Miles left. Julian just held me, stroked my hair, and when I finally fell asleep against his shoulder, he must have carried me to bed.
“Hope you don’t mind. I made coffee. And found some cinnamon rolls in your freezer that I popped in the oven.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Wanted to.” He sets his phone down. “How are you feeling?”
It’s such a simple question, but no one’s asked me that in years and actually waited for a real answer. I take a moment to consider it. “Scared about talking to the police, but... lighter.”
Julian nods. “That’s good. Small steps.”
I sit up, pulling the blanket with me. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Some.” He gestures to the space beside me. “You talk in your sleep, you know that?”
My cheeks flush hot. “Oh god. What did I say?”
“Nothing embarrassing.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Just my name. A lot.”
Before I can die of mortification, there’s a sharp rap at the front door. Julian and I freeze, looking at each other.
“Are you expecting someone?”
I shake my head, a familiar dread pooling in my stomach. There’s only one person who knocks like that—like he’s still entitled to whatever’s on the other side.
Miles.
Julian must see the recognition in my face because he’s immediately on his feet. “Stay here,” he says, but I’m already scrambling out of bed.
“No, I should?—”
“We’ll go together,” he amends, holding out his hand. “But you don’t have to face him if you don’t want to.”
Another knock, harder this time. “Ellie, I know you’re in there! Your car’s outside!”
I take Julian’s hand, squeezing it maybe a little too tight. For the first time in twelve years, I’m not facing Miles alone. And that makes all the difference.
We make our way to the front door, Julian’s solid presence beside me like a shield. My heart hammers in my chest, but I’m not backing down. Not this time.
When I open the door, Miles is standing there with that familiar stance—shoulders back, chin jutting forward, as if he’s ready to charge into a situation he’s already decided the outcome of. His eyes dart between Julian and me, narrowing when he notices our clasped hands.
“What the hell is this?” he demands, completely ignoring any normal greeting. “You’re not answering my calls, and now I find you with... him?”
Julian says nothing, but his thumb strokes across my knuckles.
“Miles, you need to leave,” I say, surprising myself with how calm I sound. “I told you yesterday I don’t want to talk about anything involving us.”
“Yesterday?” His face contorts into an ugly smirk as he looks at Julian. “So that’s how it is?”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “You don’t get to do that. Not after what you did.”
Miles takes a step forward, invading my space like he’s always done. “What I did? Ellie, come on. It was one mistake. We were together for twelve years. That has to count for something.”
Julian shifts, not aggressively, but making his presence known. Miles notices and scoffs.
“Really? This is who you’re replacing me with? The new guy in town who doesn’t know the first thing about you?”
“He knows I deserve better than what you gave me.”
Miles’ face darkens. “I gave you everything. A home, stability?—”
“You gave me scraps,” I say, my voice growing stronger. “And expected gratitude for it.”
I can see the moment Miles realizes this isn’t going how he planned. His eyes dart to Julian again, this time with real hatred.
“You think you know her? Give it time. She’s damaged goods, man. High maintenance. Always wanting to ‘talk about feelings’ and shit.” He makes air quotes, his voice mocking.
Julian finally speaks, his tone even. “I think you should respect her request and leave. But we do need to talk to someone at the department, so if you could send someone else out, that’d be great.”
Miles’ face goes rigid, his jaw clenching so tight I can see the muscle jump in his cheek. “What exactly do you need to talk to the department about?” His eyes narrow, that familiar look of suspicion and control settling over his features.
“Someone left a note on my windshield, then texted me.”
His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, something that looks almost like genuine concern flashes across his face. Then his eyes slide to Julian again, and his mouth twists. “And you think I did it.” It’s not a question.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Miles runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve seen a thousand times when he’s frustrated. “Jesus, Ellie. I may be pissed about us, but I wouldn’t— wait. Do you think it’s Rick?”
“It’s the only explanation.”
“I can file a report.”
“You’re damn right you can,” Julian says.
Miles’ eyes narrow at Julian’s intervention. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“But I’m talking to you,” I say, finding my voice again. “If you really want to help, send Officer Ramirez over. I’ll talk to her.”
“Elle—”
“No.” I cut him off. “I’m not discussing this with you. Not anymore. Send Ramirez or I’ll go to the station myself.”
Miles looks like he wants to argue, but something in my face must stop him. He nods once and backs away from the door.
“Fine. I’ll send her over.” He pauses, looking between Julian and me again. “Just... be careful, okay?”
The concern in his voice almost sounds genuine, and for a second, I see a flash of the man I once thought I loved.
Then it’s gone, replaced by the cold mask he’s perfected over the years.
I close the door without responding. My hands are shaking.
Julian waits, giving me space, until I turn to face him.
“You did great,” he says, and there’s a pride in his voice that warms something deep inside me.
“I didn’t think I could stand up to him like that.”
“Well, you did.” Julian leads me back toward the kitchen. “And now we’re getting an officer who isn’t your ex-husband to take your report. That’s progress.”
The cinnamon rolls are perfectly golden in the oven when we check them. As Julian pulls them out, I pour us both coffee, trying to ignore the trembling in my hands.
“Do you think Miles could be behind the notes?” Julian asks carefully, setting the hot pan on a trivet.
I consider this as I add cream to my coffee. “No. As much as I hate to admit it, he wouldn’t do that. He’s controlling, not threatening.”
It takes about twenty minutes for a knock at my door. “That’ll be Ramirez,” I say, standing up.
Julian nods, giving my hand one last reassuring squeeze before I move to answer it. When I open the door, she stands there in her crisp uniform, notebook already in hand. Her dark eyes are kind but professional.
“Morning, Ellie,” she says. “Miles said you needed to file a report?”
“Yes. Come in.” I step back, allowing her into the house. Her gaze flicks briefly to Julian, but she doesn’t comment.
“This is Julian,” I say, feeling oddly formal. “My boyfriend.”
Julian extends his hand, which she shakes. “Good to meet you, Officer.”
Maria nods, then turns back to me. “So what’s going on?”
We sit at the kitchen table, the half-eaten cinnamon rolls forgotten. I explain about the note on my windshield, the text message, my suspicions about Rick. Maria takes notes meticulously, occasionally asking for clarification.
“And you still have the note?” she asks.
“No, I threw it away because at first I thought it was Miles. He had come to talk to me only an hour before.”
Maria finishes writing and looks up at me. “I’m going to be honest with you, Ellie. Without direct threats or admission, it’s going to be hard to do anything. But,” she adds, seeing my face fall, “we can start a paper trail. Document everything. If he contacts you let me know.”
“And in the meantime?” Julian asks, leaning forward slightly. “What’s she supposed to do if this guy decides to escalate?”
Maria gives him a measured look. “Document everything. Take pictures, save texts, record times and dates. And...” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a card. “This is the number for our victim advocate. She can help you get a protective order if needed.”
I take the card, my fingers trembling. “Thank you.”
“And Ellie?” Maria’s voice softens. “Stay alert. I’m not saying be paranoid, but... trust your instincts. They’re usually right.”
After Maria leaves, Julian and I sit in silence for a moment. The kitchen feels different somehow—like the outside world has intruded into what was briefly a safe space.
“You called me your boyfriend,” Julian says finally, a small smile playing at his lips.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I did, didn’t I? Was that... is that okay?”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “More than okay.”
Then my phone buzzes. We both freeze, staring at it where it lies on the table. Unknown number.
“Let me,” Julian says.
I push the phone toward him, suddenly unable to look at it. He picks it up, his face remaining impressively neutral as he reads the screen.
“What does it say?” I whisper.
Julian sets the phone down and turns it so I can see. “It’s not what you think.”
The message reads: “Ellie, this is Maria Ramirez. Just checking you have my direct number saved. Call if you need anything.”
The breath leaves my body in a rush of relief. “Oh thank god.”
Julian adds the number to my contacts while I try to calm my racing heart. “You know,” he says carefully, “you might want to consider staying somewhere else for a few days. Just until things settle down.”
“I can’t just leave my house because some creep is trying to scare me.”
“It’s not giving in,” Julian says, reading my thoughts. “It’s being strategic. Besides,” he adds with a small smile, “I happen to know a guy.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “Is that so?”
I consider it for a moment. The thought of spending another night jumping at every sound is exhausting. And Julian’s place is just next door—I wouldn’t even be far from home.
“Five-star accommodations and continental breakfast included?” I ask, my attempt at humor feeling fragile even to my own ears.
“Absolutely. Fresh coffee every morning and I make a mean omelet.”
I glance around my house—the home I’ve maintained on my own since Miles left. The thought of abandoning it, even temporarily, feels like another kind of surrender. But then I remember the note, the text, the creeping fear that’s been following me for days.
“Just for a few nights,” I concede finally. “Until we figure this out.”
Julian nods, careful not to look too relieved. “Pack whatever you need. Take your time.”
As I move through the house gathering essentials, I find myself lingering over unexpected items—the throw blanket my grandmother knitted, a framed photo of my parents, the silly coffee mug with a chip in the handle that somehow survived my marriage.
These small pieces of myself suddenly feel precious, markers of who I am beyond just someone’s wife or someone’s victim.
Julian waits patiently, helping carry my bags without comment when I emerge with more than strictly necessary for “just a few nights.”
The walk to his house takes less than a minute, but crossing that physical threshold between my space and his feels momentous. His home is neat but lived-in, with books stacked on end tables and a half-finished crossword puzzle on the kitchen counter.
“Make yourself at home,” he says, setting my bags down in the living room. “Guest room is this way, but...” he hesitates, “you’re welcome to stay wherever you’re comfortable.”
The lack of pressure in his words makes something inside me unclench. “Thank you. For all of this.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Ellie.”
“I know. That’s why I want to.”
Julian works on his laptop while I read, occasionally looking up to share a thought or just to check in with silent glances. It should feel awkward—this new intimacy layered over the rawness of everything that’s happened—but somehow it doesn’t.