Chapter 9
Ethan went to prison.
We didn’t hear from him for a year.
No letters. No calls. Nothing.
Good riddance, I thought.
Life went on.
Mia graduated high school in June. Top ten percent of her class. She got a full scholarship to the state university. She wanted to be a lawyer. “Like Gloria,” she said.
We threw her a big party in the backyard. Fifty people. Friends. Family. Co-workers. Margaret and Harold paid for the whole thing. They were so proud they could barely talk about it without crying.
Jax made the high school soccer team. He was the starting striker. He scored ten goals his freshman year. Colleges were already starting to send him letters.
My real estate business took off. I was the top agent at the firm two years in a row. I paid off the mortgage on the house. I bought a new car. The first new car I’d ever owned.
Gloria and I started a small side business together. We flipped houses. Bought cheap, fixed them up, sold them for a profit. We were good at it. Better than good. We made more money in one year than Ethan had made in his best year at the company.
I met someone.
His name was Leo. He was a contractor. We’d met on one of our flip houses. He was quiet. Kind. Handy as hell. He’d been a single dad for ten years—his daughter was in college in Oregon. He’d never been married. His ex-girlfriend had left when their daughter was a baby.
He didn’t push me. He didn’t try to “save” me. He just listened. He fixed the leaky faucet in my bathroom without being asked. He brought Jax to soccer practice when I had to work late. He laughed at my bad jokes. He made me feel safe.
We took things slow. Very slow. I didn’t introduce him to the kids for six months. I didn’t let him spend the night for a year.
I was scared. Scared I’d make the same mistake again. Scared I’d trust the wrong person. Scared I’d hurt my kids.
But Leo was nothing like Ethan.
Ethan had always needed to be the center of attention. He’d talked over me. He’d put me down to make himself feel big.
Leo asked my opinion. He listened when I talked. He celebrated my wins like they were his own.
Mia liked him. She said he was “chill.” High praise from a teenager.
Jax loved him. Leo taught him to change the oil in his car. They built a treehouse in the backyard together. Jax started calling him “Leo.” Not “dad.” Never “dad.” But that was okay. We didn’t need labels. We just needed each other.
Ethan got paroled after two years. Good behavior.
I found out from the state’s victim notification system. A form letter in the mail.
He will be released on October 12. He will be required to register as a convicted felon. He will be on parole for two years. He is not permitted to contact you or your children. If he attempts to contact you, call 911 immediately.
I put the letter in a drawer. I didn’t tell the kids. Not right away. They were happy. Why ruin it?
I told Leo. I told Gloria. I told Harold and Margaret.
Harold called Ethan’s parole officer. He told him Ethan had a history of violence. Of threats. Of anger.
We installed more cameras around the house. We updated the alarm system. We got a dog. A big German shepherd named Bear. He was gentle with the kids. But he’d bark at a leaf if it blew the wrong way.
I tried not to be paranoid.
But I was.
I knew Ethan. Knew he’d blame me for his time in prison. Knew he’d never take responsibility for his own actions. Knew he’d be angry. Bitter. Dangerous.
October 12 came and went.
Nothing happened.
A week passed. Two weeks.
I started to relax. Maybe he’d left town. Maybe he’d learned his lesson. Maybe he was scared of going back to prison.
I was wrong.
It was a Tuesday night. Mia was at college. Jax was at a friend’s house. Leo and I were making dinner. Bear was asleep on the floor.
The doorbell rang.
I looked through the peephole.
My blood turned to ice.
It was Ethan.
He looked worse than he had in rehab. Thin. Pale. His hair was buzzed short. He had a tattoo on his neck I’d never seen before.
He was holding a can of gasoline.
“Natalie,” he yelled through the door. “I know you’re in there. Open up. We need to talk.”
Leo stepped in front of me. He grabbed his phone. He dialed 911.
“Get back,” Leo yelled through the door. “The police are on their way.”
Ethan laughed. It was the same laugh I’d heard in jail. Bitter. Crazy.
“Police?” he yelled. “Let them come. I have nothing left to lose. You took everything from me, Natalie. My wife. My kids. My parents. My freedom. Now I’m going to take everything from you. I’m going to burn this house to the ground. With you inside it.”
I heard the slosh of gasoline. He was pouring it on the porch.
Bear started barking. Furious. Scary.
Leo pushed me toward the back door.
“Go,” he said. “Get out. Now.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Go!”
I ran. I slipped out the back door. I ran to the neighbor’s house. I banged on their door. They let me in. I called 911 again. Told them he had gasoline. Told them he was going to burn the house down.
I stood in their kitchen, shaking, watching through the window.
I heard sirens. Loud. Close.
Ethan heard them too. He screamed.
“THIS ISN’T OVER, NATALIE! I’LL FIND YOU! I’LL KILL YOU!”
Then I saw the police cars. Four of them. Lights flashing.
Officers jumped out. Guns drawn.
“DROP THE CAN! GET ON THE GROUND!”
Ethan didn’t drop it. He raised it like he was going to throw it.
One officer fired a Taser.
Ethan dropped to the ground. Twitching. The gasoline can rolled away.
They cuffed him. They dragged him to a car.
He was still screaming as they drove away.
I slid down the kitchen wall. I couldn’t breathe.
Leo ran over. He pulled me into his arms.
“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re safe. He’s gone.”
May you like
I held onto him like he was the only thing keeping me from drowning.
He was.
