Grace didn't drive home.
She turned the car around and headed straight for the police station, her hands tight on the steering wheel, her thoughts racing faster than she could control. The messages replayed in her mind, over and over, each one tightening the knot in her chest.
This time, they listened.
An officer copied the texts, noted the times, asked about Ted—his habits, his temper, the places he might go.
"He wants you to know he's close," the officer said carefully. "Men like him don't just threaten. They want control."
Grace swallowed hard.
"Can you stop him?" she asked.
"We're doing everything we can," he replied. "But right now, the most important thing is that you're not alone."
She left with the uneasy feeling that everything we can might not be enough.
Grace picked Belinda up early.
Her daughter noticed right away.
"Mom, why are you here so soon?" Belinda asked as they walked to the car.
Grace forced a smile. "I just wanted a little more time with you today."
At home, Grace locked every door and pulled the curtains closed. She tried to keep the afternoon normal—homework at the kitchen table, cartoons playing softly in the background—but her eyes never stopped moving.
When the doorbell rang, her heart slammed against her ribs.
Luisa reached the door first.
It was only a neighbor. A simple question. Nothing more.
Still, Grace's legs felt weak long after the door closed again.
That night, after Belinda was asleep, Grace sat on the couch with her phone in her hands, staring at the dark screen.
No new messages.
That scared her more than the texts had.
Close to midnight, a soft sound echoed through the house.
Knock. Knock.
Grace froze.
The sound came again—slow, deliberate.
Someone was at the door.
She held her breath, listening.
Another knock.
Then a voice slipped through the wood, low and unmistakably familiar.
"Grace," it said softly. "I just want to talk."
Her chest burned. Her vision blurred.
From the hallway, Belinda's sleepy voice called out.
"Mom?"
Grace didn't move.
The doorknob turned.