She turned her silver ring around her finger, her eyes fixed on my hands.

“What did he say to you?” Emma asked.

“He said he would call the police,” I said.

I sat down opposite her and pressed my palms flat against the wooden table to keep them still.

The thought of a squad car parking in front of my house, the neighbors watching from their windows, made my chest feel tight.

I had spent eleven years building a quiet, respectable life here after my divorce, and the idea of becoming the subject of neighborhood gossip felt like a physical weight.

“He is trying to scare you, Mom,” Emma said, her voice rising with that quick, sharp energy she used when she was anxious.