DEAR EX-HUSBAND, YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ME BACK
Every rustle of leaves, every distant sound, sent my pulse spiking, my stomach twisting with the fear that my kids were out there, suffering, because I hadn’t stopped him.
Officer Stiles, Tom’s police contact, approached, his boots crunching on the gravel, his eyes soft but steady, his heart guarded with the calm professionalism that only fueled my rage.
“Lucas, you’re tearing yourself apart,” he said, his voice low, his hands raised in a placating gesture, his pulse infuriatingly even.
“We’re combing every inch—let us do our job.”
My eyes blazed, my throat burning as fury erupted like a volcano, my heart pounding with a primal need to lash out.
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