Chapter 12
Jade underlined the word no in her notebook for the third time, pressing hard enough the pen nearly tore through the page.
No. Maddox wasn't her ex. Friday night's cruelty was fear dressed as truth, a pattern repeating because Maddox didn't know how to do anything else when the panic got loud.
Understanding that didn’t make it hurt less, though.
She sat cross-legged on her apartment floor, Sunday afternoon stretching around her with the particular stillness that came from a weekend spent processing devastation.
Her notebook was covered in her own handwriting—arguments with herself, circles around key phrases, arrows connecting Maddox's words Friday night to the story she'd told weeks ago about Leah.
“Just trauma bonding, never real love.”
Lies. All of it. Jade had seen Maddox's face when she'd said those words, had heard the desperation underneath. But knowing they were lies didn't erase the sting of I love you spoken to a closing door. First time saying it, and Maddox had just stood there, frozen behind walls Jade couldn't reach.
Her ex's voice surfaced, unwelcome: “You're too much. You need too much. You feel too much.”
Jade wrote another no in the margin.
This wasn't about being too much. Maddox had never flinched from Jade's intensity or asked her to be less.
Maddox had held her through Marcus's story without trying to fix it, had matched her vulnerability with her own, and had made Jade feel like her capacity for love was a strength instead of a burden.
Friday night was Maddox repeating the Leah pattern, getting scared and pushing away the person who loved her, her self-protection mechanism destroying what she needed most.
The weekend had been survival. On Saturday, she cried, slept, and stared at her phone, resisting the urge to text or show up at Maddox's door. Today felt different, clearer, the acute devastation settling into something she could examine without drowning in it.
She really only had two choices, both equally terrifying:
Step back, let Maddox have the space she’d demanded, and protect herself from getting hurt worse the next time Maddox’s fear got loud.
Or fight.
Jade closed her notebook and exhaled forcefully. Her tea had gone cold beside her, forgotten hours ago.
If she stepped back, she'd be confirming everything Maddox believed about herself. Another person who left when it got hard, another person who couldn't handle the walls, another person who gave up, just like Leah had eventually given up.
But if Jade fought—if she showed up and demanded better—Maddox had to meet her halfway. She had to acknowledge the hurt, had to choose differently than she'd chosen before.
Jade couldn’t fight for them alone.
She picked up her phone and pulled up Carla's contact. Her mentor had texted yesterday—”thinking of you, call when you're ready”—and Jade had ignored it. But she needed guidance now. She needed someone who'd been doing this work longer to help her see if fighting was brave or just stupid.
The phone rang twice before she answered. "Jade. How are you holding up?"
"I need help," Jade said. Her voice shook slightly. "I need to know if fighting for someone who pushed me away is the right thing, or if I'm about to make a huge mistake."
"Tell me what happened."
Jade told her everything: the relationship being exposed, Diana's meeting with Maddox, the fear response, Friday night's cruelty, the choice sitting in front of her now.
When she finished, Carla asked, "What does your gut tell you?"
"That she's worth fighting for and that if I walk away, I'm just confirming every terrible thing she believes about herself."
"And your heart?"
Jade closed her eyes. "That I love her…and I'm terrified. I don't know if love is enough when someone keeps destroying what you're trying to build."
"Love isn't enough," Carla said gently. "It never is. But love plus commitment to change? Love plus willingness to do the hard work? That can be."
"How do I know if she's willing?"
"You ask. You show up, you tell her what you need, and you see if she can meet you there. But, Jade, you can't do the work for her. You can fight for the relationship, but she has to fight too. Both of you or neither."
The words settled into Jade's chest, solid and true.
"There's also the professional complication," she said. "Diana called Maddox in her office about our relationship. That's what triggered Friday night."
"Is the professional situation resolvable?"
"I think so." Jade straightened, the plan forming even as she spoke. "I'm not her therapist anymore, and my contract is with the department, not individual officers. If I talk to Diana directly, propose clear boundaries and oversight..."
"You remove the obstacle," Carla finished. "Take away the professional excuse."
"Right. Then Maddox has to face the actual question: Does she want this? Is she willing to fight? Can she choose me—choose us—when it's hard?"
"And if she can't?"
The question sat heavy between them.
"Then I walk away," Jade said quietly. "Not because I don't love her, but because I love myself too. I won't be someone's regret. I deserve better than that."
"Yes," Carla said firmly. "You do. So does she, for what it's worth. She deserves a chance to choose differently."
After they hung up, Jade opened her laptop and wrote an email to Chief Diana Marten, requesting a private meeting first thing Monday morning. Tomorrow, she'd handle the external complications and clear the path.
And then she'd show up at Maddox's door and offer her the choice.
On Monday, Jade arrived at the Phoenix Ridge Police Department at eight forty-five, fifteen minutes before her scheduled meeting with Chief Marten.
The building was electric with the energy of shift change as officers coming off night duty passed those arriving for the day shift, voices overlapped in the hallways, and the smell of coffee from the break room cut through the institutional scent of floor cleaner and musty building.
She’d been here dozens of times, including running therapy sessions with cops out of the converted conference room, but walking through these halls now felt different, weighted with purpose and the knowledge that the next thirty minutes would determine whether or not she had any chance of salvaging what Maddox had tried to destroy Friday night.
Diana’s assistant, Megan, looked up from her desk outside the Chief’s office. “Ms. Kessler. Chief Marten is expecting you. Go ahead.”
Jade knocked twice, heard Diana's measured "come in," and stepped inside.
Chief Diana Marten’s office reflected the woman herself: organized, professional, and efficient without being cold.
The commendations lining one wall were perfectly aligned and had zero dust on them, and Jade spotted the photo of her wife, Lavender Larwood, on the corner of the desk, the only personal touch in the space.
Diana had left the large windows open, offering a stellar view of the harbor’s gray water stretching toward the horizon.
Diana sat behind her desk, tall and composed, even while seated, her dark hair pulled back in its usual practical knot. Those sharp eyes tracked Jade’s entrance with the kind of assessment that analyzed everything.
“Jade, please sit.” Diana gestured to one of the chairs across from her desk, then picked up her coffee mug. “I appreciate you coming in so early. I assume this is about Officer Shaw?”
Straight to it, then. Jade had expected nothing less.
“Yes.” She settled into the chair, keeping her posture open and professional. “I wanted to discuss the situation before Maddox’s shift this morning. I have some thoughts on how we can resolve the professional complications.”
Diana set her mug down. “I’m listening.”
Jade had rehearsed this on the drive over and organized her thoughts into clear language that wouldn’t reveal how much her heart was riding on Diana’s response.
“First, I want to acknowledge that the situation requires oversight,” she began. “A relationship between a department contractor and an officer creates legitimate concerns about conflict of interest and professional objectivity. Those concerns are valid, and I’m not here to dismiss them.”
Diana’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her posture suggested approval of the approach.
“However,” Jade continued. “I believe the actual ethical risk is minimal. I haven’t been Officer Shaw’s therapist for months now.
She was transferred to Carla Lockridge in early May when it became clear my objectivity was compromised.
My current role with the department is providing crisis counseling to multiple officers, running the wellness committee, and conducting trainings.
Shaw is only one officer among many I interact with professionally. ”
“The optics still matter,” Diana said. “Even if there’s no actual conflict, the appearance of impropriety can undermine department integrity.”
“Agreed. That’s why I’m proposing a formal framework for oversight and transparency.”
Diana leaned back slightly, her fingers steepled. “Go on.”
Jade pulled the printed proposal from her bag. She'd drafted it last night after sending the email, needing something concrete to focus on while her mind wanted to spin.
"I'd like to formalize the relationship through proper disclosure and establish clear boundaries. Specifically, I’d like to file a relationship disclosure form, which I understand is standard for interdepartment relationships; have monthly check-ins with you to make sure professionalism is being maintained; establish a clear policy that I can’t provide couples counseling or therapy services to Officer Shaw; and give you authority to reassign my cases if professional objectivity is ever questioned. ”
She slid the proposal across the desk. Diana picked it up, scanning the document with the focused attention Jade had learned to expect from her.