Chapter 1

The separation had lasted exactly three weeks. Three weeks of sleeping in a cheap motel room that smelled of stale cigarettes and disinfectant, a temporary life I had built after Mark told me his "the woman he had always idealized," Sarah, was moving in. He didn't ask me to leave, he simply informed me that my space in our home, in our life, was now occupied. Tonight, I was just coming back for one thing: the divorce papers he had his lawyer draft.

The streetlights on our once-familiar block cast long, distorted shadows. A cold wind whipped around me, making me pull my thin jacket tighter. That' s when I first heard the footsteps behind me, heavy and uneven. I quickened my pace, my heart starting to beat a little faster. The footsteps sped up too, punctuated by a low, slurred muttering. I didn't dare to look back, focusing only on the bright porch light of my own home, a beacon that suddenly felt miles away.

I finally reached the heavy oak door and fumbled for the keys I no longer had. I knocked, then pounded, my knuckles smarting against the wood.

"Mark! Ethan! It's me, Ava! Open the door!"

The peephole went dark for a second. I saw the shadow of my son, Ethan, looking out.

"Ethan, please, open the door! There's someone behind me!" I hissed, my voice trembling.

The lock didn't turn. Instead, Ethan's voice came through the thick wood, muffled and cold.

"Go away. You're scaring Sarah."

My blood ran cold. "What? Ethan, I'm not kidding! There's a man following me, he's drunk! Just open the door!"

"Sarah gets scared easily. Dad said we shouldn't let you upset her."

His words hit me harder than the chilling wind. My son, my own flesh and blood, was choosing to protect a stranger over his own mother's safety. The shuffling footsteps were right behind me now. I could smell the sour stench of cheap liquor. A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, spinning me around. The man' s face was red and bloated, his eyes unfocused and menacing. He grinned, showing yellowed teeth.

"Hey there, pretty lady. Where you going in such a hurry?"

I screamed. I screamed for Ethan, for Mark, for anyone. The man lunged, and his weight sent us both tumbling onto the manicured lawn. I fought, kicking and scratching, but he was strong. Through my panic, I heard the door finally click open. Ethan stood there, phone pressed to his ear, his face pale. But he wasn't calling 911.

"Dad! Dad, you need to come home now! Mom is making a scene on the front lawn and she's scaring Sarah!"

Minutes later, Mark's car screeched to a halt at the curb. He leaped out, his face a mask of fury. But his anger wasn't directed at my attacker, who was now scrambling to his feet and stumbling away down the street. It was directed at me. Mark rushed past me, not even giving me a second glance as I lay shivering and disheveled on the cold, damp grass. He went straight to the doorway where Sarah now stood, wrapped in a cashmere blanket, her face buried in Ethan's shoulder.

"Sarah, honey, are you okay? Did she scare you?" Mark's voice was full of a tenderness I hadn't heard in years. He wrapped his arms around her, comforting her as if she were the victim.

I staggered to my feet, my whole body shaking with a mixture of fear and a new, volcanic anger. "Mark! That man attacked me! Ethan left me out here!"

Mark finally turned to look at me, his eyes filled with disgust. "Look at you, Ava. Making a scene in the middle of the night. You couldn't just wait until morning? You had to come here and cause trouble?"

Ethan chimed in, his voice sharp and accusatory. "You woke Sarah up. She was terrified."

I reached into my purse for my phone to call the police myself. I pressed the power button, but the screen stayed black. The battery was dead. "My phone's dead," I said, my voice hoarse. "Let me use one of yours. I need to call the police."

Mark scoffed. "And what? File a report and have the whole neighborhood know our business? No. This is your mess."

Just then, Sarah peeked out from behind Mark' s broad shoulder. She was wearing one of my old silk robes, cinched tight around her slender waist. She looked me up and down, a flicker of triumph in her eyes before she arranged her face into an expression of trembling fear. She pulled Mark' s expensive coat, which he had draped over her, tighter around herself.

"Mark, maybe we should just let her call," she whispered, her voice deceptively sweet. "It's my fault. If I wasn't here, she wouldn't be so upset."

Her words were a masterclass in manipulation. Mark's expression softened towards her and hardened even more towards me.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sarah. This has nothing to do with you," he said, turning back to me. "You see what you've done? You've upset her. Before we do anything else, you owe Sarah an apology."

Ethan nodded in agreement, his arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah, Mom. You need to say you're sorry."

I stood there, my clothes torn, grass stains on my knees, the lingering fear of the attack still making my hands tremble. And my family, my husband and my son, were standing in the warm light of my home, demanding I apologize to the woman who had replaced me, for the crime of being assaulted on their doorstep. The betrayal was a physical thing, a cold, heavy weight settling in my chest.

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