Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I was folding a sweater when I heard the doorbell ring downstairs. My hands stilled as I listened to Ryan’s footsteps crossing the foyer, the sound of the front door opening.
“Thank you for coming,” I heard him say, his voice carrying up the stairs. “She’s gone upstairs.”
My blood turned to ice. He’d called someone. While I’d been upstairs frantically packing, he’d been making phone calls. I crept to the top of the stairs, my heart hammering as I tried to see who was at the door without being spotted.
“Heather?” A woman’s voice called up, calm and professional. “My name is Mrs. Chen. I’m here to help. Could you come down, please?”
I pressed myself against the wall, barely breathing. Through the banister rails, I caught a glimpse of a large man in some kind of uniform stepping into view. The sight of him made my stomach drop.
“Babe.” Ryan’s voice carried up the stairs, and there was something in his tone that made me want to run. “I think this is for the best. I asked for help.”
Help. The word echoed in my mind as I backed away from the stairs. What kind of ‘help’ required a man in uniform? What had Ryan told them? My legs felt like water as I stumbled back toward the bedroom, my mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.
I made it to the bedroom door and slammed it shut, turning the lock with trembling fingers. The click seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence. I leaned against the door, my chest heaving as I tried to think, tried to figure out what was happening.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs made me freeze. Slow, measured steps that seemed to echo my heartbeat. Then Mrs. Chen’s voice again, closer now, just outside the door.
“Heather, I understand you’re frightened. But we really do need to talk. Your husband is concerned about you, and frankly, so am I after what he’s told me.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. My throat felt closed, my whole body shaking as I pressed myself against the door.
“I’m going to count to three,” the woman continued, her voice still calm, but with an edge of authority that made my skin crawl. “If you don’t open the door, Officer Martinez will open it for you. One.”
My eyes darted around the room, looking for escape, for anything. The windows were too high, and even if I could get out, where would I go barefoot in nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt?
“Two.”
The sound of metal on metal made me step back from the door. A key. They had a key to my own bedroom.
“Three.”
The lock clicked open, and I watched in horror as the door swung inward. The large man in uniform filled the doorway, his presence making the room feel impossibly small. Behind him, I could see Mrs. Chen—a middle-aged Asian woman in a crisp business suit—and beyond her, Ryan’s stricken face.
“Heather,” Mrs. Chen said, stepping into the room with the confidence of someone who belonged there. “I’m Mrs. Chen from Selecta Solutions. Your husband has enrolled you in one of our programs designed to help couples work through communication difficulties.”
“I don’t want your help,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just want to leave.”
“I understand that’s how you feel right now,” Mrs. Chen replied, her tone infuriatingly patient. “But sometimes we need outside intervention to break through the barriers we’ve created for ourselves. Would you prefer to come with us quietly, or will it be necessary for Officer Martinez to assist you?”
My eyes darted between the uniformed man and the woman, then past them to Ryan’s face. He had seemed bewildered just a few minutes ago, but now he looked so certain, so calm, like this was just another problem that could be solved with the right approach. The betrayal cut deeper than any physical pain.
“You can’t do this,” I said, my voice growing stronger. “I’m an adult. I can leave if I want to.”
“Actually,” Mrs. Chen said, consulting a tablet in her hands, “your husband has legal authority to make decisions regarding your mental health care under the New Modesty marriage contract you both signed. And given the circumstances—the reckless driving, the lies, the self-destructive behavior—I think intervention is clearly warranted.”
Officer Martinez took a step forward, his hand moving to something on his belt. “Ma’am, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
The room felt like it was spinning. I looked wildly around, but there was nowhere to go. The window was too high, and I’d never make it past the officer to get through the door. My suitcase sat half-packed on the bed, a pathetic reminder of my failed escape attempt.
“Ryan,” I said, trying to put all of my heart into my voice, all of my love and desperation. “Please don’t do this. Just let me go. Please.”