Chapter 2
A date eight days in the future was printed beneath a signature that looked almost like Naomi's.
Almost. The N leaned too far right, and the final loop of Carter curled backward. Naomi had spent years signing volunteer intake forms at the neighborhood housing center where she worked. She knew every impatient mark her own hand made. This one belonged to somebody else.
Daniel took another step. "It's a draft. Hand it over."
"Then you won't mind explaining it."
Marcus rose from the couch, rubbing his elbow. The leather belt hung from one hand. "You're making a scene over nothing."
"You brought a belt into an argument," Naomi replied. "You made the scene."
Her voice shook. She hated that it shook. She hated how the smell of broken tea made her think of her mother, Loretta, who used to keep this set wrapped in newspaper between holidays.
Evelyn moved toward her. "Sweetheart, we can sit down and discuss this after everyone calms down."
"Don't call me that."
Naomi backed toward the front door with the paper folded in her palm. Marcus shifted to block the hallway, then glanced at the belt and dropped it on the armchair. That small movement told her he understood what an outsider might see.
She took out her phone. "I'm leaving this room. Nobody follows me."
"And going where?" Marcus asked. "You can't keep running from difficult conversations."
"Watch me."
She opened the front door. Across the narrow driveway, Mrs. Reid, the retired nurse who lived next door, stood beside a delivery box. Her gaze traveled from Naomi's wet face to Marcus in the hallway.
"Naomi?" she asked. "Are you all right?"
The question nearly broke her. Naomi made herself answer clearly. "I need somewhere safe to make a phone call."
Mrs. Reid didn't ask for an explanation. She led Naomi into her kitchen and set a glass of water on the counter. Naomi stared at it without touching it. From the neighboring house came the muted noise of a door slamming.
"I heard something shatter," Mrs. Reid said. "Then shouting. I started to come over."
"Did you see anyone?"
"Enough to know you were frightened." She hesitated. "My phone was in my hand when I walked up the path. I recorded a little. I thought someone might need help."
Naomi looked at her. "Please don't delete it."
They called the nonemergency police line, then changed to emergency dispatch after Naomi explained the belt and the blocked doorway. While they waited for officers, Naomi photographed the blue sheet. Mrs. Reid helped her write down the sequence of events while it was still fresh: the folder, the fall, the belt, the shove, the table.
Writing "I overturned the coffee table" felt like confessing to something ugly. Mrs. Reid didn't cross it out.
Naomi had blood nowhere on her clothes, but her hands were shaking hard enough to make the pen scratch the page. She asked Mrs. Reid to check the time on her phone so the chronology would be accurate. That was when she noticed three missed calls from Marcus already waiting there, though he knew she was across the driveway. His messages demanded that she come back and apologize to Evelyn for the dishes. None asked why she'd been crying.
She listed what she had left behind: her work laptop, a week of medication and toiletries, her mother's deed folder, and the blue cup Loretta used for morning coffee. Naomi wondered whether she was being dramatic to think about replacing the locks. Then she remembered Marcus blocking the doorway and realized she'd begun weighing even basic precautions against how angry he might become. She put "ask about locks" in the margin.
"Tell the whole truth," she said. "It holds better."
The responding officer listened separately to Naomi and Marcus. He photographed Naomi's red palms and asked whether the belt had struck her. She said no. Marcus claimed she'd attacked him without warning; Daniel said he hadn't seen the beginning. Evelyn described it as an unfortunate misunderstanding.
Naomi told the officer that her husband had frightened her and stood in her way. The officer explained that his report would document the statements and that a judge, not the officer, would decide whether she qualified for a protective order. He gave her a case number and information about local domestic-violence advocacy services.
Marcus watched from the porch with his jaw locked. He never once asked whether she was injured.
Naomi chose to sleep at Mrs. Reid's house. It felt absurd, surrendering a home she owned. But she took her house keys, her phone, and the blue sheet, and she did not agree to return with Marcus that night.
Later, just after midnight, Mrs. Reid's porch camera captured Daniel carrying a thick brown envelope from Naomi's house to his car.
May you like
He looked over both shoulders before putting it in the trunk.
And Naomi realized the paper in her pocket was only one page of whatever they had prepared.
