Chapter 3
2565words
First came work problems. I couldn't focus on writing. Whenever I sat at my computer, his threatening voice echoed in my head, conjuring scenarios of what he might do next. The three articles I submitted to "Florida Tourism" magazine came back rejected, with the editor gently but firmly noting that my writing "lacked its usual vitality and focus."
"Sarah, is everything alright?" On the phone, my editor Catherine's voice carried genuine concern. "Your pieces seem... distracted. This isn't your usual quality."
I stared at my screen, covered in red editing marks, and felt a wave of despair wash over me. "I'm sorry, Catherine. I've been dealing with some personal issues. Can I rewrite them?"
"Of course, but Sarah, I need to be straight with you—our deadlines are tight. If you need time to sort out personal matters, maybe consider taking a short hiatus."
Taking a break. Her polite way of saying I might lose this gig. I hung up and slumped in my chair. No job meant no income. No income meant no rent money. No rent meant leaving this place where we'd just started to feel safe.
This was exactly what Mark wanted—to destroy everything I'd built here, forcing me back to him with Emma in tow.
That afternoon, shouting erupted from downstairs. At first I thought it was street noise, but as the voices grew louder, I realized they came from Luna's apartment. Someone was yelling in Spanish, their voice charged with rage and menace.
Peering through the blinds, I spotted a middle-aged couple confronting Luna outside her door. The man stood tall in an expensive suit, jabbing his finger at her face. The woman was shorter but radiated the same domineering energy. Though I couldn't understand their words, the hostility was palpable.
"¡No más música! ¡No más tontería!" the man's voice boomed upward. I didn't speak Spanish, but fury needs no translation.
Luna argued back, her voice frightened yet defiant. Then came the unmistakable crack of a slap, followed by Luna's pained cry.
My blood turned to ice. That sound, that moment of violence, catapulted me back to countless nights with Mark. Without thinking, I bolted from my apartment and raced down the stairs.
When I reached the first floor, Luna was clutching her cheek, tears welling in her eyes. Her father—I assumed that's who he was—had his hand raised for another blow.
"Stop!" I shouted, lunging forward to place myself between them. "You don't get to treat her like that!"
Luna's father froze, clearly surprised by the intervention. He was imposing, mid-forties, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Luna's mother stood behind him, her face a mask of cold fury.
"This is none of your business," he said in accented English. "This is family business."
"When you hit someone in public, it stops being 'family business,'" I shot back, fighting to keep my voice steady despite my trembling hands.
"It's okay, Sarah," Luna said softly, though her voice quavered. "These are my parents, Hector and Maria Rodriguez."
"We've come to take our daughter home," Maria announced in crisp English, her tone icy and commanding. "She's wasting her time here with these... people. It's time she returned home to focus on her studies."
"I'm not going back," Luna stated, her voice quiet but resolute. "I'm an adult now. I make my own decisions."
Hector's expression darkened further. "You are our daughter, and you will do as we say." He stepped forward. "Enough with this music nonsense. You will study business and marry a respectable man."
"No, I won't!" Luna suddenly erupted. "I want to sing! I want to create music! I don't want to be your puppet!"
Hector's hand shot up again, but this time I caught his wrist. "Don't you dare hit her again."
He wrenched free with surprising strength, sending me stumbling backward. "You—woman—stay out of our business. You don't understand our culture, you don't understand respect."
"I understand violence perfectly well," I said, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "I understand control and intimidation. And I understand escape."
My words visibly startled both parents. Luna glanced at me, newfound understanding dawning in her eyes.
"Luna, pack your things," Maria commanded. "We're returning to Miami tonight."
"No." Luna's voice grew stronger. "I'm not going back. I have friends here, my band, my own life."
"Your life?" Hector sneered. "In this dump, with these nobodies? Look at yourself! We gave you an education, and you waste it on this childish music fantasy."
"Music isn't childish!" Luna fired back. "Music is my passion, my gift! Why can't you see that?"
"Because dreams don't pay bills!" Maria snapped. "Because music won't give you security! You need a real career, a good husband, a stable future!"
"Like what you have?" Luna's voice cracked with emotion. "Fighting constantly, blaming each other, solving every disagreement with your fists? That's not stability—that's prison!"
Hector's face contorted with rage. "How dare you..."
"Enough!" I stepped in front of Luna again. "You can't force her to live your version of her life. She's an adult with the right to make her own choices."
"Who gave you the right to lecture us about our daughter?" Maria hissed. "Who exactly are you? Some runaway single mother hiding out with her kid? You think you're qualified to judge us?"
Her words cut deep, but I stood my ground. "I'm someone who knows exactly what it feels like to be controlled and threatened. I know the terror of fearing the very people who should love and protect you."
Luna's eyes met mine, filled with understanding and gratitude. She slowly moved to stand beside me, shoulder to shoulder.
"Sarah is right," she said quietly. "I'm not going back. If you truly loved me, you'd support my dreams instead of crushing them."
Hector's hand began to rise again when Jack appeared. Fresh from work, he strode over the moment he spotted the confrontation.
"Everything okay here?" he asked, his tone measured but alert.
"No problem," Hector replied, lowering his hand. Faced with another man, his bravado visibly diminished.
"I think there is a problem," Jack countered, his voice calm but authoritative. "I heard shouting and what sounded like someone being struck. If anyone's been hurt, I'll need to call the police."
"Police?" Maria laughed, a brittle sound. "For what? Disciplining our own daughter?"
"In Florida, hitting anyone is assault—including your adult children," Jack stated matter-of-factly. "Add threats and intimidation, and you're looking at serious charges."
Hector and Maria exchanged glances. I could see them recalculating their position.
"This isn't over, Luna," Hector finally said. "You think you can dodge responsibility forever? We're cutting off your tuition. Let's see how long your music dreams last without our money."
"I'll manage," Luna replied, though her voice wavered.
"You'll fail," Maria said icily. "When you're hungry, when you can't make rent, you'll come crawling back begging for forgiveness."
"Maybe she will, maybe she won't," I interjected. "But at least she'll be free."
Hector glared at me. "You—you're poisoning my daughter's mind."
"I'm not poisoning anyone. I'm supporting a friend who's choosing her own path."
They argued a few minutes longer before finally leaving. As they walked toward their car, Hector looked back, his eyes promising retribution.
"This isn't over," he called to Luna. "You'll regret this."
After their car disappeared, Luna collapsed. She sobbed uncontrollably, her entire body shaking. I held her close, recognizing her pain all too well.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," she sobbed against my shoulder.
"Don't apologize," I said, gently rubbing her back. "You're not responsible for their behavior."
"They've always been like this," she choked out. "Since I was little—if I didn't obey, they'd... they'd hit me. I thought coming to college here, getting away, would change things. But they still want to control every aspect of my life."
Jack approached us, his expression grave. "Luna, you should consider filing for a restraining order. This behavior is completely unacceptable."
"They're my parents," Luna protested weakly. "I can't..."
"Blood doesn't give anyone the right to hurt you," I said firmly, remembering how long it took me to learn this truth. "You don't owe anyone your suffering—not even your parents."
We helped Luna back to her apartment. An angry red handprint marked her cheek, but she refused medical attention.
"I'm used to it," she said with a bitter smile. "Not the first time."
Those words shattered my heart. I remembered saying the exact same thing after Mark first hit me: "I'm used to it."
"You shouldn't be used to violence," I said, sitting beside her. "No one should normalize being hurt."
"But they're right, aren't they?" Luna looked at me, her eyes hollow with despair. "Without their money, how do I stay in school? How do I pay rent? How do I survive?"
"We'll figure it out," Jack assured her. "There are loans, scholarships, part-time jobs. And friends who care about you."
"I don't want to be a charity case," Luna shook her head.
"You're not a burden," I said firmly. "Friendship means having each other's backs. Today we help you; tomorrow you help someone else."
That night, returning to my apartment, I found Emma already asleep. She'd left a note on her pillow: "Mom, is Luna okay? I heard yelling."
I sat beside her bed, watching her peaceful face in the dim light. So young, yet already attuned to the pain and conflict of adults. I never wanted her to experience what Luna and I had endured.
My phone rang. Mark again.
"I heard you were very brave today, Sara," his voice carried a hint of sarcasm, "interfering in someone else's family affairs."
My blood ran cold. "How did you—"
"I told you I have people watching you," he sneered. "Quite the collection of losers you've found. A wannabe musician rejected by her family, and some nobody elementary school teacher. Really moving up in the world, aren't you?"
"You're stalking us," my voice shook with rage rather than fear.
"I'm protecting my investment," he replied coolly. "Sarah, this little rebellion of yours is only making things harder. Come home with Emma, and we can wipe the slate clean."
"Never."
"Forever is a long time, Sarah. Let's see how long you last when the money runs out."
The call ended. I sat in the darkness, anger and fear warring inside me. This time, anger won.
The next morning, I visited Lisa Carter's law office. Luna insisted on coming along, despite needing legal help herself.
"Your situation is serious," Lisa said after hearing my story. She was a sharp-eyed woman in her forties with a no-nonsense demeanor. "Stalking, threats, coercion through intimidation—these are all criminal offenses."
"But he has money, connections, good lawyers," I said.
"Money doesn't trump the law, Sarah. In domestic violence cases, courts prioritize victim safety, especially when children are involved."
She turned to Luna. "As for your situation, adult children are legally protected from parental violence. You have grounds for a restraining order to keep them away from you."
"But if they cut off my tuition…" Luna said anxiously.
"Then we'll file for emergency financial aid and expedited student loans. Several organizations specifically help students in your situation."
Leaving the lawyer's office, I felt an unfamiliar sense of relief. With legal protection, we weren't powerless anymore.
But my relief was short-lived.
That afternoon, more bad news arrived. Florida Tourism magazine officially terminated my contract. Catherine sounded genuinely sorry, but firm.
"We need writers who can consistently deliver quality work on deadline, Sarah. I sympathize with your personal situation, but we have publishing commitments to meet."
When I hung up, Jack had just arrived. One look at my face told him everything.
"You lost the gig?"
I nodded, fighting back tears. "I don't know what to do. Without income, we can't make rent next month."
"I can help," Jack offered immediately. "I can loan you some money, or help you find other writing opportunities."
"No." I shook my head firmly. "I can't take your money."
"Why not? Friends help each other—that's what friends do."
"Because it feels like… charity," I admitted, painful pride rising in my chest. "I don't want to be anyone's project."
Jack's expression fell. "This isn't charity, Sarah. This is caring."
"I know you mean well, but I need to handle this myself."
"Like you had to face Mark alone? Like you have to shoulder everything yourself?" Jack's voice held an edge of frustration. "Sarah, sometimes accepting help takes more courage than going it alone."
"You don't understand." I turned away from him. "You don't know how vulnerable you become when you depend on someone, and then they decide you're not worth helping anymore."
"I'm not Mark." Jack's voice softened but remained firm. "I won't weaponize my help to control you."
"Maybe not. But I can't risk it."
We lapsed into silence. A rift opened between us—painful, but I didn't know how to bridge it without surrendering the independence I'd fought so hard to reclaim.
That night, lying awake, I heard something outside. Not Luna's music, but… footsteps. Someone was in the hallway on our floor.
I silently slipped out of bed and peered through the peephole. The hallway was dimly lit, but I could make out a figure standing outside my door. My heart hammered against my ribs.
The figure shifted closer, and I recognized his face.
It was Mark.
He'd actually come to Orlando, to our apartment. He was trying to pick the lock with something metallic.
With shaking hands, I dialed 911. Then I texted Jack: "Mark is here. Outside my door."
Minutes later, police sirens wailed in the distance. Simultaneously, Jack's voice boomed from below: "Police! Don't move!"
Mark must have heard the sirens—I heard footsteps pounding down the hallway. But it was too late. Police had already surrounded the building.
Ten minutes later, Mark was handcuffed and escorted to a patrol car. He shouted at me as they dragged him away.
"This isn't over, Sarah! You can't hide from me forever!"
Jack rushed upstairs to check on us. There was no smugness in his expression, only genuine concern.
"Are you both okay?" he asked.
I nodded, though I couldn't stop shaking. Emma was still asleep, thankfully undisturbed by the commotion.
"Sarah," Jack said gently, "I respect your need for independence. But tonight… if you'd been completely alone, with no one to call…" He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
I looked at him, suddenly seeing how my stubborn pride had nearly endangered both Emma and myself.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "About earlier today. I'm… I'm still learning how to accept help without feeling powerless."
"No apologies needed," Jack replied. "But Sarah, letting people care about you isn't weakness. Accepting help isn't failure. It just means you're human."
Luna appeared moments later, having heard the commotion. Seeing me shaking, she immediately wrapped me in a hug.
"We're here," she murmured. "We're all here for you."
That night, I let Jack and Luna stay over. We spread mattresses across the living room floor, huddling together like a makeshift family.
For the first time, I didn't feel alone. For the first time, I understood that accepting support didn't mean surrendering my autonomy.
But I also knew that Mark's arrest was merely a temporary reprieve. The real fight was only beginning.
