“Morning, Ellie,” she says. “Miles said you needed to file a report?”
“Yes. Come in.” I step back, allowing her into the house. Her gaze flicks briefly to Julian, but she doesn’t comment.
“This is Julian,” I say, feeling oddly formal. “My boyfriend.”
Julian extends his hand, which she shakes. “Good to meet you, Officer.”
Maria nods, then turns back to me. “So what’s going on?”
We sit at the kitchen table, the half-eaten cinnamon rolls forgotten. I explain about the note on my windshield, the text message, my suspicions about Rick. Maria takes notes meticulously, occasionally asking for clarification.
“And you still have the note?” she asks.
“No, I threw it away because at first I thought it was Miles. He had come to talk to me only an hour before.”
Maria finishes writing and looks up at me. “I’m going to be honest with you, Ellie. Without direct threats or admission, it’s going to be hard to do anything. But,” she adds, seeing my face fall, “we can start a paper trail. Document everything. If he contacts you let me know.”
“And in the meantime?” Julian asks, leaning forward slightly. “What’s she supposed to do if this guy decides to escalate?”
Maria gives him a measured look. “Document everything. Take pictures, save texts, record times and dates. And...” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a card. “This is the number for our victim advocate. She can help you get a protective order if needed.”
I take the card, my fingers trembling. “Thank you.”
“And Ellie?” Maria’s voice softens. “Stay alert. I’m not saying be paranoid, but... trust your instincts. They’re usually right.”
After Maria leaves, Julian and I sit in silence for a moment. The kitchen feels different somehow—like the outside world has intruded into what was briefly a safe space.
“You called me your boyfriend,” Julian says finally, a small smile playing at his lips.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I did, didn’t I? Was that... is that okay?”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “More than okay.”
Then my phone buzzes. We both freeze, staring at it where it lies on the table. Unknown number.
“Let me,” Julian says.
I push the phone toward him, suddenly unable to look at it. He picks it up, his face remaining impressively neutral as he reads the screen.
“What does it say?” I whisper.
Julian sets the phone down and turns it so I can see. “It’s not what you think.”
The message reads:“Ellie, this is Maria Ramirez. Just checking you have my direct number saved. Call if you need anything.”
The breath leaves my body in a rush of relief. “Oh thank god.”
Julian adds the number to my contacts while I try to calm my racing heart. “You know,” he says carefully, “you might want to consider staying somewhere else for a few days. Just until things settle down.”
“I can’t just leave my house because some creep is trying to scare me.”
“It’s not giving in,” Julian says, reading my thoughts. “It’s being strategic. Besides,” he adds with a small smile, “I happen to know a guy.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “Is that so?”
I consider it for a moment. The thought of spending another night jumping at every sound is exhausting. And Julian’s place is just next door—I wouldn’t even be far from home.
“Five-star accommodations and continental breakfast included?” I ask, my attempt at humor feeling fragile even to my own ears.
