Chapter 10
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Two weeks passed, slipping into a comfortable, productive routine. Lucas was making excellent progress, his dark humor and sharp intelligence making his appointments the highlight of my Tuesdays and Thursdays. But outside the safe, sterile walls of the clinic, a familiar darkness was attempting to creep back into my life.
Emily had not entirely given up.
She was smart enough not to violate my direct warning by coming back inside the clinic, but she found other, more insidious ways to harass me. It started with anonymous phone calls. My phone would ring at two in the morning from blocked numbers. When I answered, there would just be heavy breathing or the sound of someone crying before the line clicked dead.
Then came the letters. Unmarked envelopes left on the windshield of my new sedan in the clinic parking lot. They were filled with pages of erratic, rambling handwriting, oscillating wildly between vicious, insulting threats and pathetic, manipulative pleas for money.
I didn't panic. The frantic, terrified girl who used to cry over her family's cruelty was dead. Instead, I activated the cold, precise legal mindset I had developed during the nightmare of my father's fraud trial.
I bought a thick, heavy binder. Every single letter was placed into a clear plastic sleeve. Every anonymous call was logged with the exact date, time, and duration. I took photographs of the envelopes on my windshield before touching them. I was building an airtight paper trail, a fortress of irrefutable evidence.
One Thursday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk, carefully sliding a new, vicious letter from Emily into the binder. I was so focused that I didn't hear the door open.
"Is that a medical chart, or are you preparing to prosecute someone?" Lucas’s voice broke the silence.
I jumped slightly, slamming the binder shut. Lucas was leaning heavily on his crutch in the doorway, watching me with sharp, observant eyes.
"It's personal," I said, my voice a little tighter than I intended. I quickly shoved the binder into my desk drawer and locked it. "You're early for your appointment, Lucas."
May you like
"Traffic was light," he said, stepping into the room. He didn't push for details, but his gaze lingered on the locked drawer. "You looked like you were preparing for war just now, Sophia. If you ever need someone to review structural weaknesses in an enemy fortress, let me know. I am an architect, after all."
I offered a small, grateful smile, appreciating his respectful boundaries. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, let's go see how much weight that knee can handle today."
