The house didn't feel like home anymore.
Even after the police left, even after the broken door was boarded up, something had shifted. The walls felt thinner. The silence heavier.
Grace sat on the living room floor, her back against the couch, holding Belinda close. Her daughter's small fingers were tangled in the fabric of her shirt, refusing to let go.
"It's okay now," Grace whispered, more for herself than for Belinda.
Luisa moved quietly through the kitchen, making tea no one was drinking. Her hands shook as she set the cups down.
The officers asked questions. Again and again. Times. Words. Details Grace wished she could forget.
"He forced entry," one of them said. "That helps your case."
Grace nodded, though the word case made her stomach turn.
Later, after Belinda finally fell asleep in Luisa's bed, Grace stepped outside for the first time since the sirens.
The night air felt cold against her skin.
A police car was still parked across the street.
Protection, she told herself.
Still, she locked the door behind her.
The next morning came too soon.
Grace barely noticed the sun rising. She sat at the kitchen table, staring at nothing, when her phone buzzed.
A call.
Unknown number.
Her heart skipped.
She almost didn't answer.
"Grace Miller?" a man's voice asked.
"Yes."
"This is Detective Harris. I'm calling to update you on Theodore Miller."
Her grip tightened on the phone.
"He's being held without bail for now," the detective continued. "Breaking parole, attempted home invasion, violation of restraining orders."
Grace closed her eyes.
"For now?" she asked quietly.
"There will be a hearing," he said. "Soon."
After the call ended, Grace rested her forehead against the table.
Soon was not the same as never.
That afternoon, she met Lauren.
Her therapist listened without interrupting as Grace spoke. About the door. The look in Ted's eyes. Belinda's scream.
"You did everything right," Lauren said gently. "You protected your child."
Grace shook her head.
"He still got inside," she whispered.
Lauren leaned forward. "But he didn't win."
That night, Grace tucked Belinda into bed herself.
"Is the bad man gone?" Belinda asked softly.
Grace hesitated, then kissed her forehead.
"He can't hurt us," she said. "Not anymore."
Belinda nodded, trusting her completely.
After the lights were off, Grace sat alone in the living room.
Her phone vibrated.
One message.
From a blocked number.
You called the police.
Her breath caught.
Another message followed.
That hurt, Grace.
Her hands trembled as a third message appeared.
But we're not done talking.
Grace stared at the screen, frozen.
Somewhere, far away, a man sat behind bars.
And somehow, he was still reaching her.