The one who had mistaken dependence for devotion.
The one who kept apologizing whenever Mark asked for more.
Miriam waited until I could speak.
Then she said, “What happened to you matters.
What happened to those families matters, too.
We can address both.”
I wiped my face.
“Then I want to help them.”
“We’ll find a lawful way.”
“And I want Mark stopped.”
“We’re working toward that.”
That evening, Mark left twenty-seven voicemails.
The first twelve were affectionate.
The next nine accused me of abandoning him during a medical crisis.
The final six were threats.
In one message, he announced that he’d consulted an attorney about my mental health.
In another, he claimed I had become paranoid.
Then came the message that frightened me most.
“Emily, I’ve spoken to people who remember how unstable you were after the baby.
You really don’t want old medical history becoming public.”
