Chapter 19
Paper Shields
Maliyah
Thursday afternoon, my phone rang while I was in the middle of a staff meeting. Maria Bonano's name lit up the screen.
"Excuse me," I said to my team, stepping into the hallway. "I need to take this."
"Ms. Davenport? I have good news and a question. The court has an opening for a hearing tomorrow—Friday at ten AM. I know it's short notice, but if you can make it, we can get the temporary order in place immediately rather than waiting until next week."
My pulse hammered in my throat as I gripped the phone tighter. "T-tomorrow?" The word came out breathless before I steadied myself against the wall. "Yes, I can be there."
"Good. This will be a brief hearing—you'll need to testify about the assault history and recent contacts. If the judge grants the temporary order, Bryce will be served immediately, and then we'll have the full hearing for the permanent order in about ten days. Can you get off work?"
"Yes. Absolutely."
"Meet me at the courthouse at nine-thirty. We'll go over everything before we go in."
After I hung up, I leaned against the cool wall of the hallway, my phone still clutched in my hand.
My heartbeat thudded in my ears. Tomorrow.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I tried to swallow past the dryness in my throat.
Less than twenty-four hours, and I'd be facing the judge, reliving my past, my words becoming permanent record.
I texted Reed immediately.
Me: Hearing for TRO is tomorrow at 10 AM. I have to testify. I'm nervous.
The response came within minutes.
Reed: You've got this. What time do you need to be there?
Me: 9:30 to prep with Maria. Hearing at 10.
Reed: I'll be there.
Something in my chest loosened.
Me: You don't have to come
Reed: I’ll be there. We’ll plan when I get to your place tonight.
On Friday morning, Reed had left for work early—before I was even awake.
He’d needed to get some hours in so he could take time out of his day for my hearing.
He was already waiting on the courthouse steps when I arrived at nine-ten, two coffee cups in hand.
He'd shaved, put on a suit, and the sight of him standing there—solid, present, real—made my eyes sting with unexpected tears.
"Hey," he said softly, handing me a cup. "Got your favorite."
"Thank you."
After kissing my cheek, he pulled back and studied my face. "How are you doing?"
"Terrified."
His hand found my elbow, warm through the fabric of my blazer.
"That's allowed." His eyes, steady on mine, crinkled slightly at the corners.
"When you're in there—" he paused, his thumb brushing a small circle against my arm, "—just breathe.
Your voice might shake. That's okay. Let the judge see the real you and understand what you’re going through. "
Maria arrived moments later, and after introductions, she and I went inside to prepare while Reed waited in the hallway.
The hearing room was small—more like a large office than a courtroom.
Judge Martinez sat behind a modest desk, her reading glasses perched on her nose as she reviewed the file in front of her.
There was no witness stand, no jury box, no gallery of observers.
Just a couple of chairs facing a desk, a court reporter in the corner, and harsh fluorescent lighting overhead.
"Ms. Davenport, please have a seat." Judge Martinez gestured to the chair across from her. "This is an informal proceeding, but you'll still need to be sworn in."
After the oath, the judge looked at me directly. "Tell me about your relationship with Bryce Callahan."
I gripped the edge of my chair, the wood digging into my palms as Judge Martinez nodded for me to continue.
My voice started steady, describing how Bryce's temper first appeared six or so months in—a shattered glass against the wall when I’d been late for dinner because of an exam.
Then came the grip on my wrist that left fingerprint bruises, the "accidents" that weren't accidents at all.
I faltered when I reached that final night—the sound of my own ribs cracking, the split lip, my body broken and lying on the cold linoleum as I waited for the ambulance, certain I would die there on our kitchen floor as the world around me had gone quiet from my broken eardrum.
"And you left Massachusetts after that?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I moved to Florida. I was afraid of him." I could hear the wavering in my voice and the blood moving through my system—even my fingertips pulsed with the rush of nerves.
"You were gone for fifteen years?"
"Yes."
"And you returned approximately six months ago?"
"Yes. I wanted to be back here with my family. They’d been through some rough times so I came to help. I didn’t want to be alone and away from them anymore. I wanted my kids to be raised with family around them."
Judge Martinez made notes as I spoke, occasionally asking clarifying questions. When I described the recent encounters—the farmer's market, the restaurant, the knock on my door and the broken entry door—she leaned forward.
"And how did these encounters make you feel?"
"Terrified. After fifteen years of feeling safe, suddenly he was everywhere. At places I go with my children. I’d thought that, after all this time, we’d be safe. I was wrong."
The judge reviewed the hospital records Maria had submitted, the photos, the police report. She asked about the timeline, whether I'd had any contact with Bryce during those years away (none), about the frequency of the recent encounters.
From start to finish, the whole hearing took less than thirty minutes.
Finally, Judge Martinez looked up. "Ms. Davenport, I'm granting the temporary restraining order.
Mr. Callahan will be served today and must maintain a distance of five hundred feet.
No contact, direct or indirect. A hearing for a permanent order will be scheduled within ten days where Mr. Callahan will have the opportunity to respond. You'll be notified of the date."
"Thank you, Your Honor."
Outside in the hallway, Reed stood with his back against the wall, phone clutched in one hand, the other jammed into his pocket.
His head snapped up at the sound of the door.
His eyes found mine, searching, then his shoulders dropped an inch.
In two strides he was there, his arms enveloping me, his suit jacket rough against my cheek, his cologne mingling with the cold courthouse air.
"You did it," he murmured against my hair as he held me close.
"I did it." I let myself lean into him for just a moment. "Thank you for being here."
"Where else would I be?"
The permanent hearing turned out to be pretty uneventful. Bryce didn’t even show.
Reed had offered to come again, but I'd insisted he didn't need to take more time off work. "I've got this," I'd told him. "And you'll be there when I get home."
He'd kissed me and made me promise to text him as soon as it was over.
The hearing itself was quick. Without Bryce, there was no one to object. When the Judge granted the permanent order, I felt something like vindication.
Me: Permanent order granted. Bryce didn’t even show. I'm okay. Heading home now.
Reed: I'll meet you there. I'm so proud of you.
_________________________________________________________________________
Six months. That's how long Reed and I had been together when everything changed.
Two months had gone by since I got the protective order.
Two months of peace, of routine, of letting myself believe Bryce was really gone.
Reed came for dinner several times a week, helped Lucas with homework, played endless games with Zoe.
Sometimes I let myself believe this was permanent.
Sometimes I'd catch him watching us—Zoe sitting with a picture book, Lucas showing him a new video game trick—with this look of wonder, like he'd stumbled into someone else's life.
Then his phone would buzz or the clock would hit nine, and he'd start gathering his things.
I'd find myself straightening his collar before he left, letting my fingers linger just a moment too long, memorizing the warmth of him, while my chest ached with all the words I couldn't say.
Things changed though. And I should have realized how undeserving I was of that happily ever after. It was a Tuesday evening in late Fall when I blinked and my happiness fell apart.
Reed had just finished helping Lucas with a pain-in-the-ass of a math assignment and had offered to wash dishes while I put Zoe to bed.
"You know," I said, coming back into the kitchen and wrapping my arms around him from behind, "you're getting pretty good at this whole family thing."
He turned in my arms, his smile soft. "Yeah?"
I stood on my toes and kissed him. "The kids love you.
I love—" I caught myself, the word hanging between us like a soap bubble.
"I love spending time with you." My cheeks burned as I turned away, busying myself with wiping down the already-clean counter.
Reed smiled and I felt a warmth fill my chest. There was still something holding him back though, and I held back a part of me because of it.
Just last Saturday, when Lucas had asked if Reed would coach his soccer team next season, Reed had ruffled his hair and changed the subject.
His expression shifted, became more serious. "Maliyah, I've been thinking—"
His phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.
"Sorry," he muttered, pulling it out. His face changed as he read the messages. "Shit."
"What is it?"
"Officer down call. All hands." He was already grabbing his jacket. "I'm sorry, I have to—"
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped back, my arms crossing over my chest. "Go," I said, the word catching slightly. My fingers dug into my biceps as I added, "Be safe," hating the feeling of watching someone I cared about rush toward danger.
He kissed me quickly, fiercely. "I'll text you when I can."
Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that shouldn't have felt so permanent. I stood frozen, aching inside with something deep I couldn’t name—at least, not yet.