“Take your time,” she says. “Tell me what’s been going on.”
I swallow. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming for hours even though I haven’t made a sound.
“My ex,” I say. “Daniel. He won’t leave me alone.”
She nods. “When did you break up?”
“Two months ago or so.”
“And since then?”
I stare at the table, at a dark stain that looks like spilled coffee. If I look at her, I might fall apart.
“He sends me threatening letters. Shows up places.” My voice trembles despite my effort to keep it steady. “My apartment. My work.”
“Has he threatened you?” the officer asks.
“Yes.” The word comes out too fast. “He says things like… that I’ll be sorry, that karma’s gonna get me.”
She writes that down. The sound of pen on paper feels unbearably loud.
“Has he ever hurt you physically?”
“No,” I say, then hesitate. “Yes… he slapped me hard once… I knocked my head on a counter. And tonight…”
My breath stutters. The room feels smaller suddenly, the air too thick.
“What happened tonight?” she asks.
I force myself to keep going. “He cornered me at work. In the parking lot, as I was about to get into my car. I was alone.” My hands are shaking now, visibly. I press them together. “He held me against my will, covered my mouth… told me he loved me more than anyone else ever could.”
Reeves shifts closer. I can feel the warmth of his arm against mine.
“He leaned in,” I say. My skin crawls just remembering it. “He tried to kiss me. I pushed him away. I told him to get away from me.”
The officer’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“How did you get away?” she asks.
“I had mace on me. I maced him,” I say. “Then I ran back into the pool hall where I work. I heard Daniel scream, ‘This isn’t over,’ and he called me a bitch.”
The pen pauses. “Did anyone else witness this?”
“No.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, but it doesn’t bring relief. Nothing does.
She asks for exact times and locations. She asks me if I’ve kept the messages he’s sent. She wants to know the exact words he used. She asks if I’ve told him not to contact me, if I’ve blocked him, if there’s a history of controlling behavior. Each question feels like reopening a wound, like I have to prove—over and over—that I’m not overreacting, that this fear lodged in my chest has teeth.
Reeves speaks only when I falter, gently reminding me of details, never putting words in my mouth. When my voicecracks, he slides his hand over mine, warm and solid, and I cling to that anchor like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Finally, the officer sets the pen down.
“Based on what you’ve told me,” she says, “you have grounds for a restraining order. We’ll file the paperwork today. A judge will review it, and if it’s granted, Daniel will be legally prohibited from contacting you or coming near your home or workplace.”
My chest tightens. “And if he ignores it?”
Her gaze doesn’t soften. “Then he’ll be arrested.”
The word arrest lands heavily, but it doesn’t make me feel safe. Not yet.
