My Husband Left Me Bleeding to Protect His Bride

Margot's voice on the phone was thin. Not her usual bright warmth. Something smaller.

"Leila? Can you come to the precinct on West 54th?"

I pressed the phone tighter to my ear. "What happened?"

"There's been—" She stopped. Breathed. "Someone's been following me. For days. Outside the yoga studio. Near my building. I finally got scared enough to report it."

My chest tightened. "I'm coming right now."

"Thank you," she whispered.

I grabbed my coat. Told Zachary's babysitter I'd be back soon. Took the subway north.

The precinct was gray concrete and fluorescent lights. I found Margot in the waiting area. She was sitting on a plastic chair, arms wrapped around herself. When she saw me, her face crumpled.

I sat beside her. Pulled her close.

"I'm here," I said. "You're okay."

She nodded against my shoulder. Her whole body was shaking.

I held her. Stroked her hair. Went to the vending machine and brought back coffee in a paper cup. She wrapped both hands around it like it was the only warm thing left in the world.

"Did you see him clearly?" I asked.

"Dark jacket. Baseball cap. That's all." She stared at the coffee. "He was outside my apartment last night. Just standing there. Looking up at my window."

"Did the police say what they'll do?"

"They're reviewing security footage. They said they'd increase patrols near my building." She looked at me. Her eyes were red. "I'm scared, Leila."

I squeezed her hand. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

The precinct door opened. Christian walked in with two men in dark suits. Security detail. He scanned the room, found Margot, and his expression shifted into something I'd seen a thousand times. Concern. Tenderness. The face he gave her.

He crossed the room. Knelt in front of her chair.

"Are you okay?" His voice was soft. Gentle.

Margot nodded. "I'm fine. Leila came."

Christian's eyes flicked to me. Something cold moved behind them.

He stood. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He wasn't looking at Margot.

He was looking at me.

I stood slowly. Followed him to the far side of the lobby. Near the bulletin board with wanted posters and community notices.

He stopped. Turned. His voice was low. Controlled. The tone he used in boardrooms when he was about to destroy someone.

"Did you hire him?"

I blinked. "What?"

"The man following Margot. Did you pay him to do it?"

The air left my lungs.

"You think I—" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"You're angry. I understand that. But if you think scaring her is going to change anything, you're wrong."

My hands started shaking. I pressed my thumbnail into my palm. The cut split open again.

"I would never hurt her," I said quietly.

"You're hurting right now. People do things when they're hurting."

"I didn't hire anyone."

"Then why are you here?" His eyes narrowed. "She called you. Out of everyone she knows, she called you. That's convenient."

"She called me because I'm her best friend."

"Or because you wanted to be here. To see what you caused."

I stared at him. At the man I used to love. At the stranger accusing me of something so vile I couldn't breathe.

"I saved her," I whispered. "In college. When those girls—"

"That was ten years ago, Leila. People change."

Behind him, I could see Margot watching us. An officer walked past. A woman with a child sat down in the waiting area. Everyone was going about their day. Normal. Ordinary.

And I was standing in a police station being accused of terrorizing my best friend by the man who used to tell me he loved me.

"I didn't do this," I said.

Christian's jaw tightened. "Stay away from her. From the wedding. From all of it. If I find out you had anything to do with this—"

He didn't finish. He didn't have to.

He turned and walked back to Margot. Sat beside her. Put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him.

I picked up my bag. Walked to the door. Pushed it open.

The November cold hit my face. I stood on the sidewalk. Cars passed. People walked by with coffee cups and shopping bags. The city moved around me.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I stood there until they did.

Then I walked to the subway.

---

I got home at six. The babysitter left. Zachary was at the kitchen table drawing.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, sweetheart."

I set my bag down. Took off my coat. My hands were steady now. Steady enough.

I opened the refrigerator. Pulled out chicken. Vegetables. Started chopping.

The knife moved in clean, even strokes. Celery. Carrots. Onions.

Zachary looked up from his drawing. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

He watched me for a moment. Then went back to his paper.

I kept chopping. The rhythm helped. The sound of the knife on the cutting board. The smell of the onions making my eyes water.

When the vegetables were done, I pulled out my phone. Scrolled to a number I hadn't called in years.

My mother's name on the screen.

I pressed dial.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

No one answered.

I held the phone to my ear. Listened to the silence on the other end. The dead air.

Then I set it on the counter.

Turned on the stove.

And kept moving.