Page 39 of Weather the Storm
Simon launches into recounting what happened, not skipping a single detail, and my heart takes off like a rocket. Midway through his story, I grab his hand and hold it to my chest. His touch does wonders to settle me, but I’m still worried and angry and sad.
Most of all, I’m angry—so incredibly angry. How dare Grant take out his anger toward me on a complete and total stranger? Apparently, he is more than a monster; he’s a total sociopath.
Officer Benson taps his pen against the cleft in his chin. “Did anyone other than you witness the incident?”
“Yes, sir,” Simon replies. “My neighbors saw the whole thing.”
Both cops nod, and after scanning his partner’s notes, Officer Byrnes speaks up. “And you’re sure it was a South Carolina tag?”
“One hundred and ten percent. Myla Rose—my neighbor—said she saw a white palmetto on the plate. Only state with that is South Carolina.”
“Do you have any enemies or any reason to believe someone would want to hurt you? Either of you? I know yesterday the lady”—he nods to me—“mentioned she thought it was her husband who tore her car up.”
I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth before answering. “Yes. Last n-night, when I mentioned my husband, I thought I was just being p-paranoid, but the car they all saw matches his to a T.”
“Any reason he’d be down here? Any reason he’d want to hurt either of y’all?” Officer Byrnes asks.
A familiar shame heats my cheeks. The thought of having to confess my weakness to two practical strangers has me wanting to climb the curtains.
“Uh, um…y-yes. He…he was…abusive thr-throughout our m-m-marriage.”
“Abusive how? Mentally, physically?”
“All…all of the above,” I confess, my voice small. “I r-ran away and n-never looked back after he al-almost k-killed me.”
“You never reported him? Never told anyone?” Officer Benson asks, sounding appalled.
Hanging my head in shame, I whisper, “No.” With my confession come my tears, streaking hot paths down my cheeks where they drip from my chin into my lap. “No one w-would’ve believed me. Grant is so r-rich and p-powerful, and I’m j-just the high school dropout he plucked from a d-dirty old sh-shack.”
Simon wraps his arms around me, offering silent comfort. He runs his fingers over the skin of my upper arm, calming me.
“So, no protection order was ever filed?” Benson asks.
Still looking down, I shake my head, too embarrassed to meet their eyes.
“Sad to say, there’s not much we can do about the domestic abuse allegations. I mean, if you wanted to file an order for protection here, youcould,but…” Officer Byrnes’ unspoken words hang in the air.
“But she would have to see him?” Simon asks.
“No, not necessarily,” Officer Benson states. “If you file an ex parte OFP, you would have to petition a judge to grant it based on information you would provide without your husband having to appear in court.”
“However,” Byrnes interjects, “if he requests a hearing to contest the order, you will have to see him.”
“Do…do you th-think he would d-do that?”
“That’s a hard question to answer, ma’am,” Benson says, treading carefully. “But, usually they do.” Noticing the worried look on my face, he adds, “It’s up to you.”
“Y’all mind giving us a minute to talk about this?” Simon asks.
Officer Byrnes is quick to reply. “Not at all. We’ll head down to take pictures of your mailbox and check out all of that.”
“Thank you, officers.”
Byrnes and Benson head out, leaving Simon and me alone. “I think you should do it, Goldilocks.”
“R-really?”
“I do. We need to start building a case against his ass, and at least this way, if you have to see him, it will be in a controlled environment.”
