“Ready?” Darcy asked.

I was.

That surprised me too.

Twenty-four hours earlier I had been a woman who flinched at raised voices and transferred money to end arguments.

Now I stood in my own front hall with a police officer at my back and a signed court order in my hand, and I found I wasn’t afraid of the man pounding on my door — this man whose moods had governed my life for seven years.

It’s a strange border to cross, the one between being afraid of someone and simply being done with them.