Chapter 2 - The Aftermath
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of cold precinct halls, bright fluorescent lights, and lawyers who seemed to be speaking a different language. My father never left my side. He sat on the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area, a notebook in his lap, quietly coordinating with his attorney contacts.
Mark’s family, who had spent years acting like I was the lucky one to have landed such a "successful" man, suddenly went silent. His firm, terrified of the bad press, cut ties within the hour.
I sat in the interview room, telling my story. I recounted the years of gaslighting, the small cuts, the way he had dismantled my self-esteem piece by piece. Every time I paused, the detective gave me a nod of encouragement.
When I finally walked out, the sun was rising. Dad was waiting by his truck. He held a cup of coffee out to me.
"The house is being cleared," he said. "The police have him held without bail pending the hearing. He won’t be coming home."
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I looked at my hands. They were still shaking. "What happens now, Dad?"
He looked at the horizon, his expression unreadable. "Now? You heal. And we make sure that he never has the chance to look at another woman the way he looked at you."
