You Matter To Me 👮 (A Grey’s Anatomy SVU CROSSOVER: Olivia/Addison Story) 👩‍⚕️

by teammaddison

Summary:

🌸 AU STORY 🌸
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Olivia and Addison navigate the complexities of love, friendship, and resilience. Addison is trapped in a suffocating and abusive marriage, feeling hopeless and alone. One night, seeking solace, she turns to Olivia, who has always been her rock. They meet at a downtown bar, where amidst laughter, dancing, and drinks, unspoken feelings come to the surface.

With a promise of unwavering support, Olivia helps Addison devise a plan to leave her abusive husband and start a new life with her children. Together, they face numerous challenges, but their bond grows stronger with each step. As they navigate the treacherous path to freedom, they find solace in each other, realizing that love, in all its forms, is worth fighting for.

In a story filled with hope, courage, and the enduring power of friendship, Olivia and Addison discover that sometimes, the greatest love stories are the ones forged in the fires of adversity.

Chapter 1: You Matter To Me- Chapter 0- Trigger Warnings and Such

AUTHORS NOTE: THIS IS AN AU STORY:

Extra Characters & Their Ages:

 

 

Chapter 2: You Matter To Me- Chapter 1

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Olivia Benson’s Point of View

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They say that love comes softly, and I suppose that could be true. Addison Montgomery and I were never meant to be together, or even to be friends. Our friendship happened slowly, over the course of the first year we were at our new jobs. She at New York- Presbyterian Hospital, myself at the 16^th precinct  in the Special Victims Unit. When you’re an SVU detective you become close with the doctors and nurses at the hospital’s that you frequent.

Addison and I don’t make sense. I tell myself this everyday when my mind begins to wander to what things could be like if her life were different. If she had met me sooner, if she wasn’t married. It’s the savior complex in me, but I know deep down I can’t save her, she isn’t ready to be saved, and any way most days it feels like even if she were I would never be able to tell her how I feel. What if she doesn’t feel the same?  She is a doctor and I am a detective. I’m living off a detective’s salary, and she has a twenty five million dollar trust fund. We are as different as they come, yet through the brief meetings as we work with the victims a friendship was formed. It’s a friendship and that’s all it can ever be. It was never meant to be a romantic relationship, that wouldn’t be fair to her, or to me.

She’s married to a doctor at the hospital. He’s the Chief of Surgery. He won some award for being the youngest ever in the history of the hospital, or was it the state? I don’t remember. I tend to zone out when he’s talking, or hyperfocus on his tone, and everything around me, how Addison is responding to him. We’re friends, but I try not to be around when he is. Though he is charming and charismatic, he is full of himself. He likes to one up people, and that makes it hard to have a typical conversation. I don’t like men like that. They remind me too much of the perps w take down daily. How different would our lives have been if she never met him? Or if she had met me first? At least I’d have been around to tell her not to marry him, that he is a walking talking red flag for abuse.

After several months of running into each other Addison and I exchanged phone numbers. We began to extend our friendship into sharing memes and silly cat videos. After around a year of this we started meeting for coffee on our lunch breaks, the rare occasion we had a lunch break at the same time that is. More often than not a new crime or a crazy surgery would cancel our plans, and we were left waiting until the next time. I had a feeling she felt it was for the better. She was very sweet, friendly, but she was guarded. I didn’t yet know the dynamics between her and her husband, only that she didn’t speak of him, much.

Yet, every time we met my heart would race, my breath catching in my throat as I see her, sitting in our place, usually looking a her phone or reading something. The way she looks up when she realizes that I have come in the door and smiles at me. We would talk, and her laughter seems like a melody that played only for me, a secret song that speaks to all the dreams and possibilities we could have had. I find myself drawn to her in way I cannot explain, in ways that I shouldn’t feel. It’s inappropriate, Olivia. She’s married, and to a man. I remind myself. Yet I can’t help but take notice of the way her eyes light up when we talk, and in those moments it always feels like we are connected, the only two people in the world.

The reality of her marriage is a shadow that has always loomed over me, especially as I began to realize what was going on. At first it was just the simple fact that she was married, but as the years progress as she has steadily become more and more reserved, unsettled, it has become clear that she is married to someone who not only doesn’t love her, but someone who hurts her. She has never said as much, but I’m worried. Sometimes I lye awake at night, wondering if she feels the same connection that I do. Does she also wonder what things would be like if she were in a happier relationship? Does her heart ache with the same unspoken longing when she is near me? I could never be sure, and finding out, in my opinion, is not worth jeopardizing the amazing friendship that we share.

There were moments over the years when I thought I saw something in her eyes, a fleeting glimmer of something deeper. When our hands brushed accidentally in those early days, I felt a spark, a connection that left me breathless. Did she feel it too? These moments are always too brief, too fleeting to be anything more than a whisper of what could be. I keep my deeper feelings to myself. I would rather be in her life as her friend, than not at all. The first time I saw evidence that something wasn’t quite right in her marriage she had called me, her voice soft and warm, but there was something different. She had been crying.

“Olivia, can you meet me for coffee tomorrow around noon? I’ll have some free time before my next patient, and then I have a surgery. It would be nice to have a caffeine break.” My heart sored at the thought of seeing her, though I could not shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

“Of course. I’ll be there.” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “Is everything…” I was going to ask if everything is alright, but she hangs up the phone before I got the chance to do so.

The next day, as we sit at our usual spot at the small Café near the hospital, I can’t help but to steal glances at her, trying to see what she isn’t saying. She looks normal though, radiant. She hasn’t gotten ready for the OR yet. Her long auburn hair falls in soft waves around her face. Then I notice something that makes my heart lurch, confirming in my mind what I never wanted to truly know. As she reaches for her coffee, her sleeve pulled up slightly, reveling a dark bruise on her arm that she quickly tried to hide.

“Addison, what happened to your arm?” I asked, my voice concerned, but trying to keep my tone light. She looks away, pulling her sleeve down further so the bruise is fully covered.

“It’s nothing, Olivia. Just an accident.” She says, but I’m not convinced, it looked like a handprint. She opens her pastry from the paper, and begins to eat, unconcerned.

“Please. You can talk to me, you know that right? Maybe I can help?” I offer. She sighs deeply with a vulnerability that I haven’t seen in her before, it’s unsettling.

“Are you here to interrogate me, or are we here for coffee and pastries?” Addison asks, eying the cupcake that she had taken a bite out of longingly, wanting to g back to it. It’s her second favorite flavor, crème brulee. They were sold out of her first choice Red Velvet.

“Addison I…” I falter, unsure how to proceed. She called me here for a reason, she was clearly upset on the phone last night. I don’t want to push her too hard though, and I begin to second doubt myself.  Is there a way that this could just be a misunderstanding? Could the bruise have nothing to do with her husband? It strikes me that she could have just been injured at work, though, if that were the case she probably just would have said so.

“We’re here for coffee and pastries.” She answers her own question, almost forcefully, as If trying to assert a certain level of control over the situation.

“Why?” I ask softly, taking a bite of my own cupcake and savoring the warmth of the coffee. Maybe this is just another one of our normal coffee dates, and I am overthinking things. Maybe me seeing the bruise was just an accident that she never intended to have happen. It’s not uncommon that we have coffee together, though her response surprises me as she slowly nibbles on her cupcake, glancing up at me with vulnerability in her eyes.

“Honestly?” She asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“I just needed to see you.” She says quietly.

“You needed to see me?” I echo, my heart skipping a beat.

“It’s silly.” She says, trailing off.

“Try me.”

“I needed to be reminded that there is still good in this world. That there is something worth holding onto, worth staying for.” She doesn’t come out and say what I think she’s implying, but her words hang heavy between us, a quiet understanding. I wonder how many of our past coffee dates had coincided with bruises hidden under clothing? My mind races with questions, but I know that it isn’t the right time to ask them. Instead, I reach across the table and gently take her hands in mine.

“Okay.” I say softly. “You are not alone, Addison. I’m here for you, no matter what. If you ever need anything I’m only a phone call away. You can call me, or even Stabler, anytime.”

“I know.” She says with a little smile, and a shrug. “I’m glad we’re friends. You have no idea how much our friendship means to me.” The café seems to fade away, leaving the two of in this moment of raw honesty. I want to do more for her, to take away the pain and uncertainty that I see in her eyes. I feel the overwhelming urge to protect her, though what if I can’t?

“You deserve kindness, Addison. You deserve to wake up in the morning, and not be afraid. You deserve to have something to live for. You’ve always been the one caring for others, making sure that everyone else is okay. I’ve seen you with your patients, with your co workers, with me.  When was the last time someone checked in on you?” I ask her quietly. She smiles, its faint, but genuine, though as I complement her she shifts uncomfortably.

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It should be.” I reply softly. “Love shouldn’t feel like work.” For a few moments we sit in a comfortable silence, savoring our pastries and coffee. There is a struggle in her eyes, the conflict between staying silent, and letting someone in, reaching out. Addison glances at her watch, a hint of urgency in her eyes.

“We just got here.” I point out, not wanting our time together to end so soon, especially knowing that she is hurt.

“Right, but I walked, and I still have to get ready for the OR.” She trails off, clearly looking for an excuse, afraid that I am going to start asking her about the mark on her arm again.

“Let me walk you back.” I offer, hoping to prolong our time together just a little bit more. I want to make sure that she’s truly okay. She nods and we throw our trash away, gathering our things. The bell above the door chimes as we walk out into the fresh air. The crisp freeze feels refreshing, clearing some of the tension that had built up inside of the café.  “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.” I say softly, trying to ease her discomfort. Addison sighs, looking up at the sky as we walk. I notice that her mood shifts, at first she’s chatting away, but soon she becomes quiet, her voice paling as if remembering something. My worry for her grows with each step that we take.

“Olivia.” She says stopping suddenly turning to me.  “I need to talk to you, before we get back to the hospital.” She looks so pale, like the mask just lifted and I can see how she’s truly feeling.

“Are you okay?” I ask automatically, noticing her change in demeanor. She doesn’t say anything, just stands almost as if she is frozen, leaning against a park bench. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” She shifts uncomfortably again. “I…uh…I’m pregnant.” She starts to cry, trying to apologize to me as she say this. She knows how much I would love to be a mother, but thus far, it just hasn’t been in the cards for me. The only time I ever got pregnant resulted in a miscarriage. I smile at her though, trying to ease her discomfort, feeling a sense of relief washing over me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was far worse than this. My sense of relief overshadows the fear I feel for her, remaining in the relationship that she is in, temporarily any way.

“Stop…stop…stop.” I tell her gently, though she keeps crying, and apologizing. “Addison, just stop.” She finally calms down and I gently place my hands on either side of her face so that she looks at me. I wonder if I had known then what I know now if I would have felt differently?

“You’re pregnant.” I echo softly, letting the words sink in. She looks up at me as if she is expecting me to yell at her. Instead, I pull her into a hug. “I am so happy for you, Addison.” I say, and I genuinely mean it. She has always wanted to be a mother, and he will be an amazing mother. I have no doubt. She will work through this for her child.

“You don’t hate me?” She asks as we break a part, and she looks up at me confused.

“Hate you?” I ask, and now it’s my turn to be confused.

“I’m keeping it.” She says softly, as if clarifying the thing that would upset me, to cause me to lose my tempter and scream at her.

“I didn’t expect that you wouldn’t be…” I respond. “You’ve wanted to be a mother for as long as I’ve known you, and now it’s finally your turn. It’s okay to be happy about that, Addison.” I say softly. “You’re going to have a baby, and I’m going to be an aunt.” I say, inflating my voice with enthusiasm. She laughs, her turn to feel relieved.

“I just thought maybe…” Her eyes glance at her arm for a moment before quickly looking away and back up at me. “But it’s fine, everything is fine and I’m going to be a mom.”

“You are, and you’re going to do amazing.” I tell her confidently. She smiles through her tears, looking a bit more reassured.

“Thank you, Olivia. I was so scared to tell you. I thought you might…I don’t know, be angry or something  at me.” I shake my head, still holding her hands.

“Addison, you’re my best friend. I’m here for you, no matter what. This baby is going to be so loved.” She nods, wiping her tears away.

“I just…Ethen and I just found out. I’ve been sick for a few days, and I was worried it was something worse. I was scared maybe it was cancer or something else awful. My life normally isn’t just as simple as this…” She says, gesturing to her stomach.

“Let’s be thankful it’s not.” I say, my heart aching at the thought of her going through that fear process. “This is good news, Addie. Really good news.”

“You’re right. It is good news.” She says taking  deep breath. “I just have to figure out what my next steps are.” She says softly. “This day it is just… it seemed like It would never come.” We fall into silence and continue walking. I glance over at her, my mind swirling with questions. One in particular nags at me, and I decide it’s okay to ask.

“What did Ethan think about the baby?” I ask gently. Addison’s face clouds over and she bites her lip, a nervous habit.

“Ethan…he was upset when I told him.” She admits quietly. “We weren’t trying to have a baby, not now. He just got the promotion at work and he’s been so stressed.”

“Stressed enough to hurt you?” I ask, stopping. She stops too, hesitating, looking away.

“We got into an argument. He grabbed me. It wasn’t intentional, he wasn’t trying to hurt me, but it did happen.” I narrow my eyes, feeling a surge of protectiveness.

“Are you sure about that?” I ask, she nods, though her eyes betray her uncertainty.

“He wasn’t trying to hurt me, or to be cruel, Olivia. Things just got out of hand.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” I ask taking a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. Addison sighs, running her fingers through her hair.

“Sometimes, I think I want to talk about it. I feel this urge to run away, to escape my life. But then something happens, I panic, I freeze, I try to hide it and pretend like it didn’t happen. Pretend like everything’s fine. Everything’s not fine, but it’s as if saying it out loud would make it real, and I’d have to face it. I’m just not ready for that.”

“Are my suspicions true?” I ask softly.

“I don’t know. What are your suspicions?” She meets my gaze, a flicker of fear in her eyes.

“That you’re being hurt, that this isn’t the first time it’s happened.” I say, my voice almost a whisper. She knows exactly what I’m talking about. She looks away again, her silence speaking volumes.

“I’m fine.” She says finally, but there is o conviction in her voice. “You’re wrong.”

“Are you?” I ask her. “Am I really?” I press gently.

“Yes.” She insists, but it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.

“There’s a baby to think about now though.” I remind her gently.

“It was an accident.” She repeats, her voice wavering.

“Okay.” I say, trailing off. I know I’m pushing her further than she’d like, I know that I need to back off, even just or a little while. “Just…know that you can talk about this with me, if you need to. I’m here for you.” I say, in a reassuring way.

“Thank you, Olivia.” She says nodding, eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Of course.” I reply, keeping my voice gentle as she wipes the tears from her eyes. “I just want you to know that I’m here, whenever you’re ready. You are not alone.”

“I know.” She says, and I look up her with a little smile. “That’s why we have these coffee dates.” She falls silent, looking for the proper words to express what she is thinking. “You make me feel safe.” My heart swells at her words, and I squeeze her hand lightly.

“You’re safe with me, Addison. Always.” We walk in companionable silence for awhile, the city bustling around us. I can see the hospital in the distance, and get the feeling that neither of us really want to return to our busy lives. As we near the entrance I feel a pang or reluctance, not wanting to let go just yet.

“Thank you for coffee.” She says, pausing at the steps of the hospital.

“Anytime.” I reply, trying to keep my tone light, despite my heavy suspicions that she isn’t okay, that I don’t want her to go home with him when he’s upset with her. Maybe things have calmed down now. It sounds like the argument happened the night before, shortly before she called.

“You mean so much to me Olivia.” She says, pulling me into a hug. “More than you’ll ever know.” I hold her close, wishing I could freeze this moment forever.

“It means everything to me too.” I say with a smile.

“See you soon?” She asks.

“Definitely.” I promise, watching her as she walks into the hospital, disappearing into the crowd of people. As I turn to leave, I can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope that she’ll be okay. I’ll be here for her, I’ll do my best to help her navigate through this impossible situation. I know that our friendship, our connection is something rare and beautiful. Trying to make it something m could never be more than a dream, a longing that will remain forever unfilled. I cherish these small moments with her, every shared conversation, Now there’s going to be a baby. I just…I just want her to be happy. I’ll be her friend. That is what she needs in this moment.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and then years. We continue our lives in a blur of patients and victims, short coffee dates and late- night phone calls. Ethen knows we’re friends now, though she has deliberately kept my profession from him. He doesn’t know that she’s anything more than coffee and yoga friend to me. She told him that we met at yoga. I don’t think I’ve yoga a day in my life, but he doesn’t have to know that. I’ve never told Addison about the feelings that have developed towards her over the years. There is never the right time. I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining what we had, of making things worse if she didn’t feel the same way. I became her person, her best friend and that’s enough.

 I try to take a step back with her. Things seemed to get worse for her after the baby was born. I dot’ like her husband, the way he speaks to her, often dismissive and condescending. The way he handles her, almost possessively, as if she were something he owned rather than a partner that he loves. In public or around other people these questionable are normally non existent. There have been a few times where he’s slipped though. The way Addison automatically bends to his will to keep the peace is a stark contrast to the strong, independent woman I know her to be. She isn’t this way when we’re together.

Things have changed so much as the years have progressed.  Addison and I are both mothers now.  A few months after Addison’s daughter Emilia was born I was working a case and found a newborn baby boy in a motel room drawer. He was placed into the foster care system, and through a series of what I will call fortunate events, I was able to adopt him. That was four years ago, and then this year six weeks ago, I helped Addison welcome her second daughter Arabella into the world. I feel a surge of anger when I think of the day Arabella was born.

Addison went into labor while on shift. Ethen was off for the day, drinking somewhere. He refused to come and collect Emilia from the hospital when Addison was admitted. She called to ask if I could pick up Emilia and I did, but then she asked me to stay. She was scared, vulnerable. She didn’t want to be alone. I called quickly to arrange childcare. Lucy will take Noah to Kathy since she cannot keep him overnight, and Elliot will pick up Emilia on his way home for the evening. They love having the children over to play with their youngest, Eli. He’s only a year older than Noah and Emilia. They attend the same school.

I hate this for her, so much. She’s scared, vulnerable. Nobody should have to be alone at a time like that, unless there was absolutely no other choice. Not once, but once did she end up in this situation, pregnant by a man who doesn’t love her, who wants her as a beautiful trophy and nothing more.

“Is this another something we’re not supposed to tell Daddy about?” Emilia had asked, as she cuddled closely to her Mommy on the bed when I took her to visit while we waited for Elliot. They’re coloring a picture, Addison’s trying her best to distract Emilia from the pains of her labor. I could have just taken her. Addison doesn’t like her staying the night with anyone, but there wasn’t a good option tonight with her Daddy MIA. I could have just taken her. She could have come home with me for the night, but Addison isn’t in a great position to be left alone. She could stay with Eli and Noah, and I could stay with Addison and provide support.

“No Lovie.” She says softly. “Daddy knew that Arabella was coming soon.” Addison winces, shifting uncomfortably trying to mask her discomfort. She cuddles her daughter closely, gently pushing her hair out of her face. “Elliot is going to take you home to play with Eli, and Noah. Eli’s Mommy and Daddy are going to watch you until baby sister is born. Aren’t you so excited to go play with your friends, and then come back tomorrow to meet baby sister?” she asks, and I know she is trying to distract her from the question before she can say something more. It works because Emilia puts her hands on Addison’s tummy as Elliot knocks on the door and  comes into the room.

“Bye baby sister!” She says sweetly. “I got to go play with my friends now. I can’t wait to meet you tomorrow! I love you!” My heart melts as she pronounces the l in love like a w. ‘I wuv you’. “Bye Mommy! Bye Aunt Olivia!” She says, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst from the cuteness of it all. Again with the l as a w. ‘Owivia’. She goes with Stabler without a fuss, and Addison and I settled into the night. It worries me that things are progressing so much that she’s asking her four year old to keep secrets from him. Emilia didn’t mean any harm by the question, but it’s a red flag all the same. He should be here for Addison.

During her pregnancy with Arabella I really thought that things were going to change. She took Emilia and they left for a while, staying in the apartment down the hall from the apartment where Noah and I live. As this things normally go though, she ended up going back to him. She said that Emilia missed her Daddy.  She doesn’t speak about it much, she never did, but I can see it in her eyes. Things are escalating. She’s even more brainwashed, more afraid than she was before, and now not only does she have to get herself out of this mess, she will have to get the children out too.

I wish that she would have been able to leave before the children were born. How many times are these situations made worse when children are involved? We’re spending more time together now, and I’ve grown to know her children so well. She thinks of me as her sister, as their Aunt and she raised them knowing me as such. Emilia and Noah have become such good friends. We take the children with us on coffee date, which have been more frequent and expanded to walks around the park and other simple things when she’s home with her kids and her husband is working. I love them as if they were my own, and my protection I have towards Addison has only grown, now extending to her two beautiful children. I don’t know what I am going to do, but I have to keep them safe.

***

CURRENT TIME

***

“Hey.” Addison says quietly as I approach her in the hallway near the nurses station. It’s her first day back on the job after Arabella’s birth. “Happy first day back.” I say with little smile, handing her a cup of coffee.

“Awe. You shouldn’t have.” She says softly.

“Good juju for your first day back.”

“Too bad you couldn’t have shown up with juju sooner.” She mumbles, not like me turning up sooner would have changed anything, though it’s a nice thought that juju can really change things. We walk together to our patient’s hospital room. I say ‘our’ patient, but that’s not really true. I’m a detective, not a doctor.  She’s Addison’s patient. She’s my ‘victim.’ I’ve been at this job, with this unit for thirteen years. I still hate using the word victim. I wish there was a better word, something less demeaning. I see this everyday. These people survive the unthinkable.  They’re not victims. They’re survivors. I took her statement earlier. I’m supposed to be checking on her now that the rape kit and other medical care has been taken care of. She’s only eighteen years old. A freshman in college. This was supposed to be the best year of her life, and now it’s the worse. Case after case and this never gets any easier.

“How is she doing?” I ask cautiously.

“I’d like her to stay overnight for observation.” Addison replies. “She has a concussion, and ortho had to set her broken arm, we did a rape kit. There are signs of bruising and tearing, but she’s holding on and the baby is strong.” She looks like she’s about to be sick. Having Arabella just six short weeks ago. I can only imagine the thoughts going through her head of a pregnant woman raped, brutally injured. The cases with babies, and children are the worst. Children are innocent.

“She’s pregnant.” I murmur, surprised. “She didn’t mention that she was pregnant when I interviewed her earlier.” I say, jotting it down on my notepad. “Can I speak to her? I have a few more questions I’d like to ask.”

“You can.” She responds. “But only for a few minutes. She has been through a lot tonight. She needs to rest. She is devastated about the pregnancy. Maybe you can help.” She suggests cautiously, aware that we’re right out of the patient’s hospital room. There’s so much more to this than she’s saying. I know she’s reflecting on how much I helped her through her own pregnancies, especially her pregnancy with Arabella, when she was also a single mother. During her pregnancy with Emilia she was still stuck in her delusions, that he would be there for her, mend the broken promises that he’s made. She thought that he would change, be better for her and their daughter. She found out quickly that wasn’t the case. When she became pregnant with Arabella she struggled so greatly with wanting to keep her, but not wanting to put her through the danger that she had put Emilia through by bringing her into this world. In the end she decided to keep her children, but she also felt that she couldn’t leave him. She places some paperwork on the nurse’s desk, and then turns back to me. I try not to let the exhaustion I’m feeling show through. It’s like a game we play. We’re strong until we’re not, and then we break. I don’t like this game, but it’s impossible to stop.

“I can try.” I offer. “If she doesn’t want the baby there are options.”

“I did discuss her options with her, though they are more limited than they would have been had she come in earlier. She is twenty six weeks.”

“She didn’t know she was pregnant?” I ask.

“It’s more common than you’d think.” Addison remarks, jotting something down in her notes.  She’s moving on as if everything is fine, as if nothing outside of this hospital matters to her.  I try to follow her lead, but realize there are dark circles under her eyes, and she is slightly unbalanced, she stumbles a little, grabbing onto the nurses station for support.

“You okay?” I ask gently.

“Yeah.” She says, as if nothing just happened. “I guess I need this coffee more than you know.” She says giving me a small smile that’s probably meant to be reassuring. “Arabella still isn’t sleeping trough the night, last night was rough.” I nod, trying to be understanding, hoping it really is just that and nothing more.

I hesitate, standing outside the door of the patients room. For some reason, this case is hitting me harder than usual. Maybe it’s her age, so close to that of my mother when I was conceived, a product of her brutal rape. She is a college student, just like my mother was. Maybe it’s the look in her eyes when I took the statement, the haunted, shattered look as if all the life had drained from her. I’ve seen that look too many times, but I can never get used to it. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but I can’t bring myself to walk in just yet. I should wait for Stabler. He’ll be back soon, we can go together.

“I guess I should be asking if you’re okay.”  Addison asks, observantly, noticing my hesitation.

“Fine.” I reply.

“You hesitated. You don’t hesitate.”

“I guess this one is…this one is tough.”

“They all are.” Addison says, nodding understandingly. “But we have to keep going, for them. We have to be strong, because sometimes that’s all they have to hold onto, to give them hope when everything they know has just shattered around them.”

I nod, but I don’t move. Instead, I glance down the hallway, hoping to see Stabler coming back, he had to run back to the squad car to get something. We had stepped out while the medical procedures were being preformed. I need more time, just a few more minutes before facing her again. I’ll take this time to breathe and then I’ll be okay.

“Did she tell you her name? We have her listed as Jane Doe. She was adamant about not telling us her name.” I explain, stalling for time, not wanting to go in alone. I had agreed to go ahead and not walk all the way back to the car. I hoping to steal a few moments with Addison to catch up.

“Brianna.” Addison says. “She moved here from California for the fall term. She’s a freshman at Hudson University. She was so excited about starting her new life here.” Addison says with a sad sigh.

“God.” I murmur, shaking my head. “It’s just so unfair.”

Addison places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re doing everything we can for her, and her baby.” She says. “She’s strong. She survived. She can get through this.” I take another deep breath, trying to draw strength from Addison’s words.

“You’re right.” I say softly. “I know that you’re right, it’s just hard to see.”

My heart races as Addison turns to me, and I see a soft smile playing on her lips. “I know it’s probably inappropriate, given the seriousness this.” She says gesturing towards Brianna’s room. “But would you like to get a drink with me tonight?” She asks, voice tinged with hesitation and hope.

For a moment, my world spins. Alone with Addison outside of work hours? I have to say yes. It’s a rare opportunity, a secret wish tucked away in the quiet corners of my heart. Usually our interactions outside of our coffee time is confined to brief, professional moments.  My heart skips a beat as she suggests this. I’m not typically alone with her. We’re friends, but I haven’t been alone with her other than when Arabella was born and these quick visits when I am called in to interview sexual assault victims.

 “I’m off at six. It could take our minds off…” Addison continues, her voice trailing off as she glances away. “It could take our minds off…” Her words hang in the air, the unsaid truth that no amount of alcohol could ever erase the shadows of our daily realities.

“I’m sure Lucy wouldn’t mind staying with Noah overnight since it’s a weekend, but what about the children? Your husband?” I ask, my voice wavering slightly, knowing that Ethen wouldn’t be pleased with her going off at nighttime.

“Actually, they’re out of town for the weekend.” She replies, her gaze softening. I feel a pang of alarm, I try to calm myself. He is her husband, the father to her children. It is logical for Addison to let her husband take the kids, but it still catches me off guard. “Ethen took them to visit his mother in Rochester. They’ll be back Sunday night. Deborah absolutely dotes on the girls and I’m not breastfeeding, so there was no reason to say no to a weekend visit.”

“Addie, you don’t have to explain.” I murmur gently.

“I feel like I do…I just…”

“I’d like a drink.” I interrupt, my voice steadying. “I’d love to spend the evening with you.” Relief washes over Addison’s features, and she turns her attention back to the papers on the nurses desk.

“I’m off at six.”

“I’ll pick you up at the hospital entrance at six, don’t worry. I know a great place we can go.”

“I’ll be here.” We share a moment of silent understanding. It’s been a long time since we’ve been out for drinks, not since Emilia was born, or schedules and her husband’s tight reign on her never allowed it to be so, he required her to be home with the children in the evenings, looking after them. Just as I am thinking about the last time that we had a drink together Elliot comes around the corner.

“Hey, sorry it took so long.” He says. “Are you ready?” He asks  and I nod feeling steadier since making plans with Addison. His timing is impeccable.

“Yeah, actually Addison just finished up with her, so we’re good to go in. We can only stay for a few minutes though.” I take a long drink of my coffee, coughing slightly as it scalds my throat, but savoring the warmth seeping through the cup into my hands. It’s a small distraction, a brief respite from the cold reality that we face with these cases every single day.  

With one last glance at Addison, who gives me an encouraging nod, I take a deep breath, knocking on the door and then push the door open to Brianna’s room. The sterile smell of the hospital room hits me first, so much stronger than in the hallway, followed by the sight of Brianna lying in the bed, looking fragile and broken.

“Hi Brianna.” I say gently, stepping closer to her. Her eyes are red and swollen from crying, and they meet mine. She nods slowly when I say hi, clutching the thin hospital blanket as if it is a lifeline. I pull up a chair next to her bed, trying to make myself as non threatening as possible, and Elliot keeps his distance, standing nearby. His presence a silent pillar of support. He is offering her space incase she is uncomfortable with men after what happened.

“Do you remember me?” I ask her. “I’m Detective Benson. I was here when you came in.”

“Yes.” She nods.

“Brianna, I want you to know that we’re here to help you.” I say softly. “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure that you’re safe and bring the person who did this to you to justice.”

She nods again, and I can see the flicker of hope in her eyes, mingled with fear and pain. I take a deep breath, hoping that my words can offer some comfort, some semblance of security in the midst of her nightmare. Brianna’s emotions are a raw mix of anguish and vulnerability. She’s trying to be brave, but the trauma of what she’s been through is evident in her every movement. Her eyes dart around the room, not quite meeting mine, as if she’s searching for an escape. Her hands tremble slightly as she grips the blanket, and her breathing is shallow, a telltale sign of her anxiety.

“I’m fine…I…I just want to go home. Dr. Montgomery Hawthorne, she said I can’t leave.” She whispers, her voice barely audible. My mind cringes a bit when she mention’s Addison. Ethen had forced her to take his last name, saying it was more practical. So she and her children all ended up with two last names. Montgomery Hawthorne. She was going to give them her entire last name Forbes Montgomery Hawthorne, but that was too long and ridiculous amount of last names for a single person.  There is a pleading in Brianna’s tone, a desperate need for normalcy that she knows she can’t find here. If she can find it again at all.

“I know.” I respond gently. “And we’re going to do everything we can to help you get there. But for now, it’s important that you stay here so we can make sure you’re okay, and your baby’s okay. It’s only overnight for observations.” I reassure her. “Addison is the best in her field, if she says you need to stay it’s in your best interest to stay.” Her eyes fill with fresh tears, but she blinks them back, nodding again.

“Will they find him, are you gonna find him?” She asks, her voice trembling.

“We’re doing everything we can.” I assure her. “We have a strong team working this, and we’re not going to stop until we have answers.”

She looks down, her shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she’s gone through this evening. “I feel so… dirty,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel clean again.” My heart breaks for her. I don’t know how I’m still here after all this time, how I haven’t hardened my heart to the hundreds, no thousands, of victims that I’ve seen.

“What happened to you wasn’t your fault.” I say firmly. “And it doesn’t define you. You are strong, and you will get through this. We’re here to help you every step of the way. What you’re feeling is a normal reaction to what he did to you.” Brianna nods, but her expression remains uncertain, caught in a painful struggle between hope and despair.

“How do you know?” She challenges me.

“Because I was a victim once too.” I say, using the word I hate, so much. Maybe my own experiences surrounding sexual assault have defined my hatred towards that word. I reach out and gently place a hand on her arm, offering what little comfort I can. “We’re here with you, Brianna. You’re not alone. The city provides support groups, and counseling.” I offer and then list off the other things the city offers for those involved in a violent crime.

“Okay.” She says softly, I know that tone. She’s numbing herself.

As I begin to ask her the necessary questions, that we hadn’t gotten to earlier. I can’t help but think about the drink with Addison later. It’s a small thing, but it’s a reminder that life goes on, that we find ways to cope, to support each other, to survive. And in this moment, that thought gives me just enough strength to keep going. Brianna needs that too. She needs a reason to stay.

I arrive early to pick Addison up after assuring that Lucy didn’t mind staying with Noah, and that he would be safe for the night. Lucy got a more accurate versions of my reasonings than Addison did. I told her that Addison is going through something, and I didn’t want her to drink alone. I wait in the patients pick up zone, prepared to move if anyone else actually comes up behind me. When she gets in the car I can tell she’s not in the mood. There’s a tension in her posture, and a sadness in her eyes. She buckles up, and then we drive off. I notice that she’s holding her hands in her lap, they’re trembling.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “We don’t have to go out tonight if you don’t want to. We could just hang out at my apartment, or I could take you home so that you don’t have to uber.”

“I’m fine.” She says, though she sounds angry. “Where are we going tonight?” She asks. “You said that you know a place? I want to go out tonight? I just want to forget everything for a while.”

“Okay.” I agree empathetically. “There is a new bar downtown, and it’s great. I think you’d really like it if we tried it out. “

“Sure.” She agrees. “Anything to get out of my own head.”

When we get to the bar we find it is more like a club. We pay the entrance fee and we find a seat at the bar and order our drinks. It starts out as a very ordinary outing. We people watch the lively bar for a few minutes. We talk and we laugh, letting the alcohol blur the edges of our reality.

For a few moments the stress of our jobs, the weight of all of the unspoken feelings I have toward her, all melting away as we dance and enjoy our time together. After a while I see a sadness returning to Addison’s eyes.

“Let’s take a break.” I  lean in, my voice soft in contrast to the loud music. We find an empty table to it at. “Are you okay?” I ask her and she nods. “You look so sad. How are the girls doing? Is everything okay at home?”

“They’re fine.” She replies. “Everything’s fine. How’s Noah?”

“He’s great. Are you missing them?” I ask her, feeling a little pang as I think of Noah. Lucy will have already fed him his dinner. She’d be putting him to be bed right about now. Its very rarely, if ever, that I spend the evening away from him. “We don’t have to stay.” I offer again.

“Of course I miss them.” She says with a little laugh. “It’s the first night I’ve ever been without them since they were born.” She admits. I guess she’s not counting the night the kids stayed with Kathy and Stabler while Arabella was being born. We did have her for much of that night. Now that we’re sitting in a different lighting I notice a faint mark on her temple as she pushes her hair out of her face. It is getting warm in here with all of the different people dancing around.

“We could skip more drinks and just dance instead.” I suggest, trying to lighten the mood. She shakes her head, looking annoyed as she touches her temple, realizing that I’ve seen the bruise.

“I’m fine, it’s just that the make-up is wearing off. The bruise is a week old, don’t worry about it. I don’t even have a concussion anymore.”

“You had a concussion?” I ask, and she forces a smile.

“You can do whatever you want, but this is the first time that I have been kid free  and husband free in four years. I’m gonna do some drinking.” I gently take her hand, keeping her from getting up.

“Okay, but lets talk about his first. What happened?” I ask. Her eyes darken and she pulls her hand away from mine.

“Olivia, I said I’m fine. It’s nothing. Let’s just enjoy this evening, okay?”

“I want to help you.” I insist. I know I am pushing her, but this seems to be getting worse. “You know, I see situations like yours everyday. I can help you if you let me. Do you want to talk about why you were in a bad mood after work today?” I ask, and she sighs, her frustration with me evident.

“Fine, but if I tell you will you leave me alone?” She asks, and I nod. “Ethen and I got into an argument tonight.” She says softly. “I called to tell the girls goodnight early. I told him I had a hard day and wasn’t sure if I’d be able to call at their bedtime.”

“And that caused an argument?” I ask her.

“Yeah.” She says, but she doesn’t elaborate.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Olivia. I feel suffocated, trapped in my marriage. Everything’s…” She pauses, looking for the right word. “I have an amazing job. I have my wonderful children and all the money anyone could ever need, but I’m not happy. I know my marriage is not okay. I wish I could have gotten out before the children were born but I…I just couldn’t.”

“Addison, if leaving is what you want, you make a plan. You get out now before your beautiful children are older and start to become more aware of what’s going on.” I urge, careful to keep my tone gentle. We’ve had this conversation before, and she did leave for that brief time while she was pregnant with Arabella.

“It’s not that simple, Olivia, and you don’t understand. I’m not even supposed to be here right now. There are rules and…and regulations. I can’t just leave him. What about the children? They are safe now. They wouldn’t be safe if I decided to leave. He’ll find us, and when he does our lives will be a living hell just like the last time.” She looks at me and I see that same haunting look in her eyes as I did in Brianna’s earlier. What happened when she went back to Ethen?

“You’re scared, and that’s okay. You and your children deserve to be safe and happy, Addison. You can’t keep living this way.” I say, knowing I do not even know the full depth of her injuries and everything else that she may be hiding.

“And you’re being a killjoy.” Addison murmurs. “I just wanted to forget everything for tonight, just for a little while. One night Olivia.” She says, a tone of finality. “Tonight is for drinking and dancing with my friend, tomorrow we can worry about everything else.”

“Fine.” I pull her into a gentle hug, feeling her tears dampen my shoulder. “We’ll enjoy tonight, Addison, but tomorrow, if you still want to leave, we begin working on a plan.” I say and she nods in agreement.

We move to the dance floor, the pulsing beat of the loud music combined the alcohol making it far too easy to get caught up, lost in the moment. We twirl and sway, our bodies becoming more relaxed and free with each drink. I call to check on Noah. Lucy said that he is doing fine, and I am free to enjoy my evening. He went to bed without a fuss. She’s going to sleep on the couch.

“Another round?” Addison asks, her eyes sparkling.

“Sure.” I reply, wanting to keep her spirits up. We down another drink, laughing as the warmth of the alcohol spreads through our bodies. As the night wears on, Addison’s sadness fades and her laughter grows loud, me genuine to herself. We stumble around the dance floor, our arms around each other for support. I can’t help but smile at the sight of her finally letting go, even if it is just for a little while.

“You know…” Addison says, her voice slightly shaky, slurred. “I’m going to have to get a designated driver for us, or maybe an uber?” She asks, and I nod, knowing there is no way that I’d be able to drive home. I wasn’t planning on drinking this much.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get Stabler to drive us home. He’s on paperwork duty tonight with Rollins. I’m sure they’re both bored out of their minds. We’ll be safe.” I send a quick text to Elliot, giving him our location, knowing that he will come through for us. He hates paperwork duty and generally looks for any excuse to leave.

“You’re always looking out for me, Olivia. Thank you.” Addison says with a grin, the worry lines that seemed permanently etched into her face these last few years softening. Really I’m looking out for us both. It wouldn’t be good for me, a member of the NYPD, if I got pulled over while intoxicated.

“Always.” I reply softly, almost too soft for her to hear me over the loud music.

We dance and single along to the music, or inhibitions completely gone. The heavy conversation from earlier seems almost like a distant memory as we order more shots and enjoy the moment.  She smells sweet, of honeysuckle. One moment we’re dancing together, and the next I am leaning in, and I kiss her. It was an impulse, driven by years of bottled-up feelings and the haze of more alcohol than either of us have had in a very long time. For a moment Addison freezes, her eyes wide with shock. Panic surges through me and I pull back, my heart pounding.

“Oh my God. Addison, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was…”

“So this is what we’re doing now?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Addison I…” But before I can finish, she cups my face gently, her touch soft and reassuring.

“Olivia.” She whispers, her eyes locking onto mine. “Don’t apologize.” She kisses me back, her lips soft and warm against mine. “If you want something, just say so and commit to it.” She kisses me again, letting me know that right now, it this moment it is okay. She is okay with this.

The world seems to stop as we kiss, the noise of the club fading away. It’s just the two of us in a perfect, fleeting moment of connection. When we finally pull a part again, breathless and trembling, not even daring to believe my luck she smiles at me, her eyes shining with a mixture of something I can’t quite place. Does this mean she feels the same?

“Addison…”

“Let’s not think of anything else right now.” She suggests softly. “Just this.”

“Just this.” I echo, feeling a surge of relief, at least she isn’t angry, but there is so much that will need to be considered going forward. This can never work out. This, us, it would put her in danger. It would put her children in danger. For that, just for one night we allow ourselves to be lost in each other. The world outside forgotten, as we dance, drink, and kiss under the dim lights of the bar. As the night draws to a close, the bar begins to empty out. The music softens, and the lights dim even further. We find ourselves gently swaying on the dance floor, our arms wrapped around each other, lost in our own little world.  Addison’s head is rested on my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.

“Thank you for tonight, Olivia.” She murmurs.

“Anytime. You deserve to be happy, even if it is in these little moments.” We continue to dance, the room sinning in a comforting blur. Eventually, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text from Stabler, letting me know that he’s outside.  “Stabler’s here.” I whisper, reluctant to let go of her, of the movement. “We should get going, we can still get a good night’s sleep before we have to go back to our hectic lives.” Addison nods, her eyes half- closed, she has completely relaxed against me.

“Okay.”

We make our way outside, the cool night air so nice after the warmth inside of the bar. Stabler is waiting by the squad car. Rollins is driving. He’ll drive my car back and she’ll follow to take him back to work. I help Addison into the backseat, and then slide in beside her.

“The two of you look like you’ve had quite the night.” He says, opening the back door of my car for him when I hand him the keys. He closes the door, and then signals to Rollins to follow him.

“Always.” He replies, his tone gentle. “Let’s get the two of you home safely. Are you staying over with her, or are you going to your place?” I look over to Addison, who shrugs like how could it possibly matter.

“Just drop me, and my car at Addison’s. We’ll be fine for the night. I’m paying Lucy extra to stay with Noah overnight.” The drive home is quiet, we don’t talk about what happened on the dance floor. She rests against me, and falls into a peaceful slumber. I watch her sleep, her features completely relaxed for the first time in what feels like forever. I know what she is going through is challenging. There is not an easy answer, but at least I’m here. She’s not alone. When we arrive at Addison and Ethen’s brownstone, I gently shake her awake. She stirs, blinking groggily as she realizes where we are.

“Home.” She whispers, a small miserable smile playing on her lips.

We go inside and I settle Addison on the couch, she looks up at me, eyes filled with gratitude. “Stay with me tonight?” She asks, her voice and vulnerable.

“I already said I would, didn’t I?” I ask her, and nods.  She turns on the TV, flipping through the channels. As we sit on the couch in the quiet Livingroom with the warmth of the alcohol still coursing through our veins, I feel a sense of calm wash over us. Addison’s head rests on my shoulder again as she put on an old movie. The Wizard of Oz.  It could have been anything. She’s not paying attention to the TV.

“Olivia…” She looks up at me, her gaze soft, and vulnerable. I turn to look at her, catching a glimpse of her serene expression. “Did you really kiss me? Or am I imagining it?” She asks me. I feel my heart race as I meet her gaze.

“I did.” I say cautiously, unsure of how she will react now that it’s been a while, around an hour or two without a drink and we’re starting to sober up. We had gotten caught in traffic on the way.

“Will you kiss me again?” She asks me, her voice soft, filled with longing. I’m not sure what to say. The air crackles with electricity, desire looming between us like a thick fog. Does she really feel the same way for me, or had she only said that due to being drunk? I decide that in this moment I really do not care. Just as I move to kiss her I accidentally brush up against her side. I am not rough, but a sharp inhale escapes her lips as she pulls back, wincing in pain. Her shirt had lifted slightly and I look down, eyes widening with concern.

“What’s this?” I ask, my voice soft, filled with both curiosity and worry as my fingers ghost over the deep bruise marring Addison’s ribs. It’s dark and mottled, standing out drastically against the paleness of her flesh. Addison’s eyes flicker with a hint of tension, a shadow passing over her features before she quickly responds, forcing a smile.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just a little accident.” She replies nonchalantly, trying to downplay the significance of the bruising. I’m not convinced. There is something in the way that Addison’s eyes dart away, a flicker of unease that belied her casual words. A thousand questions swirl around in my mind, each one more insistent than the last.

“You danced for hours with a bruise like that?” I ask her, realizing now when she was insistent on drinking, the alcohol probably numbed the pain.

“I told you, I wanted to forget.” She says softly as she repositions her top. Silence lingers between us, heavy with unspoken secrets. The heat of the moment had been abruptly extinguished, replaced now with a different type of tension.  My concern for Addison gnaws at me, refusing to be ignored. I take a breath, trying to calm my thoughts.

“Addison, we need to talk about this. You’re clearly injured. I can’t ignore a bruise like that, or my concern for you right now.” Addison’s eyes flicker with a hint of frustration, her walls starting to crumble under my persistent gaze. “We also can’t ignore the face that we’re both too drunk to consent right now. We need to have this conversation again when you’re sober.”

“Why does it need to happen when I’m sober?” She asks. “Why did you say it like that?”

“You’re my best friend, but at the end of the day there is a lot riding on a decision like this. You’re married, and you have two children. I have a child…”

“And you’re single…” She says the last part in a singsong tone.

“I am.”

“Okay, but you worded it weird like you already…”

“Like we will have this conversation again when you’re sober, if you even remember what happened tonight. With the amount of alcohol you’ve ingested I doubt you will.”  I say firmly, and Addison sinks back down onto the couch, falling silent.  “When you’re not hurting.”

“I…Olivia I don’t know how to explain it.” She admits, her gaze fixed at a point in the distance. “My relationship with Ethen is complicated, it’s messy, and I don’t even know where to start.”

“You don’t have to have all of the answers right now, Addison. Just let me help you.”

“It’s my fault.” She whispers, looking down saddened. “We got into a fight. He hit me, but what’s worse is the things he said. He accused me of cheating because I didn’t want to have sex. The girls were crying and I was just touched out, exhausted you know?” She asks and I nod. How many times have I been exhausted, touched out as a single parent? Ethen never wanted children, I know from the things that she’s said in the past he is less than supportive. “He said that Emilia and Arabella were going to grow up to be whores, just like their mother.”

“Addison I’m sorry…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She murmurs. “Let’s just have fun. It’s one night, Olivia.” As the confession spilled from Addison’s lips, what I already knew to be true is confirmed. Her husband Ethan has been hurting her. The revelation sends shivers down my spine, a cold chill creeping into the warmth of the night. My mind races with a flurry of emotions, anger, concern, fear, each one vying for dominance as I absorb Addison’s words.

“Addison this is getting out of hand.” I say finally. “We need to go to the station and you need to make a statement against him, this needs to be documented.” As I reach for my phone, Addison’s hands shoots out, to still my movements.

“Nobody will believe me.” She says softly. “And we’re both too drunk to go anywhere right now. We need to sober up first.”

“Oh now you want to sober up?” I ask her. “Because ten minutes ago you wanted to…” I bite my tongue, not putting words to what she wanted, what we both wanted before I saw the bruise. A tense silence descends between us. I struggle with the need to take action, or staying here with her.

“Fine.” I concede, but my voice is heavy with frustration. “but we cannot let this slide. We need to address this, Addison. Things are getting worse, We can’t keep sweeping things under the rug.” I say, pushing back against Addison’s dismissive attitude. “This is serious.” I implore. “We can’t just ignore what happened. We cannot let him keep getting away with hurting you.”

“Olivia, you really are overreacting.” She insists, her tone tinged with frustration. “I’ll deal with it in the morning, let’s just have fun tonight and forget about this.”

“We can do this your way, but that’s not going to make it go away.”

“That’s my girl.” Addison tases with a playful smile. A flicker of gratitude crossing her features. “We can just enjoy tonight. Tomorrow will take care of itself. Why won’t you kiss me?” She asks me. “Are you worried about the cameras? We don’t have camera’s in here, only outside. If Ethen asks I could just tell him that I drank too much and you stayed with me so I wouldn’t aspirate and die.”

I hesitate, feeling the pressure of this moment on me. She is so close, her eyes pleading and full of emotion. I can feel her breath on my lips, the warmth of her body against mine. Everything in me wants to kiss her again, to lose myself in the moment and do whatever she wants, but I know that will only complicate things further if this isn’t what she wants when she is sober, or if her husband were to somehow find out.

“Addison, it’s not about the cameras or Ethan.” I say gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s about you. I’m more sober than you are right now, and I don’t want to take advantage of this moment when you’re not in the right frame of mind. I’m sorry I did earlier. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I consent.” She offers. “Olivia I want…”

“We are both very, very drunk. Neither of us can legally consent. What happened should have never happened, Addison I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” She says softly. “Olivia I know you want this too. I felt it when you kissed me. That’s why I was so shocked. I…I didn’t know that you felt the same way.” She rambles. “After all this time…”

“This would be a great thing to discuss when we’re both sober.” I offer. “When you and your children are safe, free from your husband’s grasps.” She reaches up, her fingers chasing the line of my jaw.

“I’m not a cheater.” Addison says softly. “I didn’t cheat on him.”

“What would you call this?” I ask, and she bites her bottom lip, thoughtfully.

“Happenstance.” She says with a little smile. “Any way you’re saying no, so it doesn’t matter. We’ll both keep our respectable distance.” She almost pouts, looking disappointed.

“I did say no.” I start, studying her carefully. I look into her eyes, seeing the pain and longing there. It breaks my heart to see her so vulnerable, so desperate for comfort. I know hat kissing her again, or doing more, wouldn’t solve her problems, but in this moment agreeing seems to be the only way to show her how much I truly care. “I said no, but you want me to say yes…” I trail off and she nods.

“Olivia please. I need this. I need to feel something good, something real,. Just for tonight, can we forget about everything else and just be?”

“Okay.” I say, though reluctant. Slowly I lean in, our lips meeting in a tender lingering kiss. It was gentle at first, a soft brush of the lips that quickly deepened and became more heated as our emotions take over. Her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer and I can feel the intensity of her need, it has less to do with me and more do with her need to feel something, anything other than pain.

Addison’s fingers tangle in my air, pulling me closer as our kisses grow deeper, more urgent. Our breaths mingle in a symphony of desire, each movement fueling the flames of passion between us. This moment, this fleeting moment of connection, is perfect. For a little while we allow ourselves to forget about everything else.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” Addison murmurs between kisses, her voice husky with need. I can feel myself melting into her touch, my own desires matching Addison’s intensity, but as the moment passes, the rational part of my mind begins to resurface. Her hands are moving down further and I gently pull away from her, my breath coming in uneven gasps.

“Addison we need to stop.” I say softly. “We can’t go there.” I say softly my heart aching at the look of confusion and hurt in her eyes. Addison’s breath hitches as she registers my hesitation, a mix of longing and frustration clouding her expression.

“Why?” She whispers. “Why now, when we both want this? When we’re both consenting adults and I am finally feeling something good for he first time in years?” I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing away the tears that had started falling. “Because I care about you too much to let this happen right now. It’s complicated, and I don’t want you to walk away from this feel taken advantage of. You deserve better than that.” She nods slowly, her eyes searching mine for reassurance.

“I just…I don’t want to feel so alone anymore.”

“I know.” I say softly, “But this isn’t the way, not yet.” I pull her into a tight hug, my heart breaking for her. “You are not alone, Addison. I’m here for you, always, no matter what. We can figure this out, when we haven’t been drinking. “ My eyes search Addison’s face, torn between my own desires and the knowledge of the complexities of our situation.

“This isn’t fair.” Addison murmurs.

“I know I know.” I sign heavily, mustering the strength to speak. “Addison I’m not rejecting you, and I’m not saying no forever. I want this too.”

“But…”

“But you’re married, to someone who hurts you. I can’t do this to you, or to us. I can’t risk getting you or your children hurt if he finds out about our feelings towards each other.” I say, my voice tinged with regret. Addison runs her hand through her hair, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to consume her.

“I get it Liv… it’s just…so hard to resist you, to not want you when I know that we both want the same thing.” Addison admits, her voice raw with emotion.

“I know.”

In a moment of bittersweet clarity, we both know there are some like that cannot be crossed, no matter how strong the pull of our desires. With a shared look of unspoken longing, we slowly sit back on the couch. The embers of passion simmering beneath the surface, tempered by the reality of our circumstances. The unspoken promise of what could have been hangs in the air like a delicate thread, fragile, yet pulsing within untold possibilities. If she is able to leave Ethen, if she’s able to find safety and peace.

We stay like this for a while, holding each other close as the emotions of the night wash over us. Eventually exhaustion takes over and Addison’s breathing becomes steady and slow as she had fallen asleep in my arms. I hold her, my mind racing as thought of the future and how I can help her find the happiness and peace that she deserves for her, and her children. Noah and I can  be apart of that happiness, in whatever, safe, way possible. We will find the way forward, together. 

Chapter 3: You Matter To Me- Chapter 2

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ADDISON'S POINT OF VIEW:

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I wait until Ethan has been gone for a full two hours, the medication has worn off and the tears have stopped before I take out my cell phone and call her. The phone rings once, twice, three times. I don’t think she’s going to answer, but then on the last ring she does. She almost always answers my calls as I answer hers.

“Olivia…” I breathe into the phone, my voice barely above a whisper. Her name catches in my throat, as if saying her name out loud, just knowing that she is there on the other end of the call will somehow make everything more manageable. “Something happened…I need you.”

“Addison?” Olivia’s voice is gentle, but questioning. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” My pulse races and my hands tremble as I grip the phone tighter. I force myself to stay calm. I don’t want to alarm her. She knows something is wrong without me having to say anything more. She has so much protectiveness in her tone, a fierce protectiveness that I both welcome and dread.

“Can we meet at our place tonight?” I ask, the urgency in my tone unmistakable. I can feel my chest tightening, the panic pushing it’s way to the surface. I try my best to push it down.

“It’s the middle of the night, the pastry shop is probably shu…” She starts, but I quickly interrupt her before she can say anything more to protest.

“Please? It’s important.” My voice breaks, betraying the composure that I’m desperately trying to hold onto. “At our place, in half an hour?” I need her to hear my voice, to know that I need her to be there. I hate feeling so dependent.

“Okay.” Olivia finally relents. “I’m on paperwork duty tonight, so I can only stay for a few minutes, unless it truly is a Cragen level emergency.”

“Okay.” I promise. “Only a few minutes.” I echo numbly. We both know that she will stay longer, a quick minute isn’t long enough.

I check to make sure that the children are still sleeping safely upstairs; and let their Nanny know that I am leaving. I feel thankful that they are blissfully unaware of what’s been happening between their father and I over the last forty eight hours. This is too much. They don’t deserve to deal with the trauma that I’ve been through. They’re innocent, only babies. I know that they’re safe, but the knot in my stomach remains. I don’t want to talk to Olivia, not in the way that needs to happen. I pull on the first outfit that I can find that covers the worst of the bruising and hastily apply touch up make-up to hide the areas where it has faded, and where the new bruises are starting to appear.

My reflection stares back at me, my eyes are hollow and it takes me a second to recognize myself. I’ve lost a lot of weight since Arabella’s birth. I don’t like it. I feel…there’s not a good word. Ethan is happy though. He has his trophy wife back. Being thinner just makes the bruises hurt worse. I leave the house, and lock the door behind me. The night air is already crisp. How is it so warm in the afternoons and this fridged in the mornings and evenings? It seems almost unnatural to need two completely different wardrobes in the same day. I don’t like walking the city at night. I live in a safe neighborhood, but it’s too dark, too lonely. I get into my car and slowly drive the couple blocks down the street to the bakery. I look at the time on the radio, 8pm.

Olivia’s squad car is already at the bakery when I pull up. She’s waiting, leaning against the car door. Her face is bathed in the soft glow of the street lamp. I am thankful that she actually came. I try to suppress the thought that the glow makes her look like an angel. I park next to her and get out, we don’t bother walking to the door as the bakery is closed. Instead we sit at one of the little tables outside, listening to the hum of the busy city traffic around us. I don’t know how to start this conversation off.

“I’m okay.” I reassure her, deciding that putting her anxiety to ease is the most important thing. “It’s just been a really rough couple of days. I’m in trouble, Olivia.”

“I know you are.” Olivia responds, her voice steady, calm. She’s seen this before far too many times. The question lingers in her tone though. ‘What are you willing to do about it.’

“Are you ready to leave? I can get you in touch with Alexandra Cabot. You could disappear, Addison. The children too.” She looks like her heart is breaking at the suggestion, we wouldn’t be allowed to keep in touch if it got that bad.

“No.” I respond quietly. “I’m not running.” I say in a defeated sort of way. “I have children, Olivia. They love their Daddy so much. He’s not…he’s not this way with them.” I hate how small and indecisive my voice sounds. It’s like I am trying to convince myself more than I am her, but it’s not working, in either direction.

“It’s only a matter of time.” Olivia murmurs. Her eyes soften, but somehow there is a hardness there at the same time. I know it comes from her job, from all of the experience she’s had with cases very similar to the one that I’ve found myself in.

“He would never.” I whisper, shaking my head, horrified at the thought of him hurting one of the children… it’s too much. I can’t believe that. I won’t. He hurts me, but he has never, not once even hinted towards hurting them in anything other than empty threats to get me to comply.

“Okay.” Olivia says simply, not wanting to argue, but there is doubt in her eyes. She’s not pushing, but her silence speaks volumes. In her line of work she’s seen every kind of ‘would never’ turn into ‘did’. “So what can I do to help?”

“You want me to leave.” I say quietly, and she nods.  “I can’t leave. I need help obtaining a concealed carry permit. The application asks for documented proof of need, and character references. He is a good father to the girls but I…I just…I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else who wouldn’t go straight to him the moment the conversation ends. I can pass the background checks, pay the fees, everything, but in New York they want you to show proof of need.”

“If  he is as good as you say he is, you wouldn’t be asking for my help obtaining a firearm. You wouldn’t want to take your children’s father away from them like that.”

“Olivia, I’m asking for protection. You know me. You’ve known me for years. I would never do anything to hurt someone intentionally without just cause.”

“I do know you, and that’s why I’m telling you—it’s not safe, especially in a home with domestic violence, and especially with children,” Olivia responds, her voice firm but caring. “Around 400 children per year die in the United States due to accidental shootings.”

“Aside from the fact that you own a weapon yourself… 400 children? That’s something like 0.00049% of people who own weapons in the United States. I have a higher chance of dying in a car accident—1.31%—or some freak accident—5.71%. Even cancer, at 17.2%, or heart disease, at 19.89%, is more likely to kill me. Even falling out of a window is statistically more dangerous, at 0.0015%.”

“I own a weapon because I am a police officer, Addison. I don’t have a choice, and even then I take an over abundance of precautions to keep Noah safe. He is my first thought in every decision that I make.”

“Do you think that I wouldn’t take those same precautions to protect my girls? They are my life, Olivia. Every single decision I make is for their safety.”

“But you won’t leave their father.” Olivia shakes her head slightly. “Addison, that 0.00049% is huge if your child is the one who dies. I’ve seen the devastation that these cases cause. The number might seem small, but when it happens it’s everything.” I feel my stomach tighten when she says this, but I push forward.

“I understand, but those are still extreme cases. I am responsible, Olivia. I just need to be able to protect myself, and my children if it comes down to that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I know that you’re responsible and you’d never do anything reckless intentionally, but there are other factors here, Addison. You’ve been through so much, the domestic abuse, the depression and the anxiety. It’s all still there even if you’re masking and trying to work through it.”

“You think I’m not capable of handling this?”

“No, that’s not what I think.” Olivia says quickly, letting me know that she’s thinking of the big picture, she wants to help me through this, but it’s not a quick fix. “I’m not saying  no outright. I just want you to explore other options first. There are safer ways to protect yourself, Addison. You know that. I want you to think about everything- not just the statistics, but the real risks here. I’m worried about adding a weapon into the mix of everything you’ve gone through.”

“I need help Olivia. If you won’t help me I’ll find another way.” For a moment Olivia’s resolve wavers I can see that she wants to help, to make me feel safe.

“I know you’re scared.” Olivia says softly. “I can take a report of what happened, and maybe also give you a character reference but…you can’t say things like that to me. I’m a police officer, Addison. I could lose my job if I helped you to do anything illegal.”

“You’d help me to get the permit then?” I ask, looking up at her, not daring to believe it.

“I need to think about it.” She admits. “I want to help you, but I need time, there are other ways. Having a gun could make things more dangerous, not safer.”

“What choice do I have, Olivia?” I ask her. “I can’t keep living like this. I’m scared every single day, for my girls, for myself. I…” I can’t think of the right words. Would having a gun have made anything that has happened in the last two days not happen? I don’t know. I’m a doctor, I save lives, would I be able to end the life of my husband if it came down to that?

 “I understand that…” She looks like she wants to say more, but this isn’t just about the fact that Ethan could easily overpower you, Addison. There is something else you need to consider. You’ve struggled with depression and anxiety.  You’ve attempted suicide in the past. Since you love statistics so much today 50% of all suicides are committed by a firearm.”

I can feel my eyes glazing over as I think of that day. Emilia was a baby, just six months old. I didn’t know how to cope with everything that had been happening like I do now. The world had spiraled into such a dark lonely place. The postpartum anxiety and depression seemed relentless, suffocating me. Every waking moment felt like a battle that I cannot win. My marriage, which was already in ruins offered no solace. It was toxic, full of anger, resentment and abuse. I was broken, my mind and my body. I couldn’t do anything right. I felt like I was drowning with no hope of ever coming up for air.

On that day I made the decision that would haunt me for years to come. I drove to Olivia’s apartment, Emilia secure in her car seat, tears streaming down my face as I whispered her an apology she will never remember. I parked, and then took her out of the car. I place the baby’s car seat gently on Olivia’s doorstep, hands trembling as I pinned the note to her blanket. ‘Please keep her safe.’ I rang the doorbell, heart pounding in my chest as I left without waiting for an answer, without letting myself think about what I was truly doing. I fled before Olivia could see me or stop me.

Olivia told me later on when I asked how she found me that she knew something was terribly wrong when she saw Emilia on her doorstep. She called in favors, put out an all-squads alert, and then left Emilia and Noah with the Nanny before getting into her car and looking for me. She found me, and hour later, in a more secluded area on the outskirts of the city. My car was wrapped around a tree. The crash didn’t kill me, but it came disturbingly close. I had to have several operations. Apparently I was slumped over, barely conscious. That would have been due to the painkillers and sedatives I took, washing them down with alcohol. I had mixed everything I could get my hands on in desperate attempt to numb myself, to be brave enough to disappear.

“I don’t wanta play this game anymore.” Were the only words spoken before I passed out cold and emergency professionals continued working to untangle me from the wreckage.

It wasn’t an explanation; it was a surrender. Though Olivia knows nothing of the ‘games’ that Ethan and I play. There were no grand declarations, no dramatic revelations, just the stark truth that I have ben holding in for so long. I didn’t want to fight anymore, didn’t want to pretend that I could hold myself together when every piece of me is shattering.

I was cleared by Psych and spared any legal repercussions since no one else was physically hurt. I never explained to Olivia why I had done it, but it’s almost like she knew what I was holding in without me having to say it. She became fiercely protective of me after that. Making a point to check in, make sure I’m okay, even though it never should have been her burden.

“That was years ago, Olivia.” I say sharply. “I’m not the same person I was back then.”

“Yes, it was years ago, but things haven’t gotten better for you. Not really. You’re still in this abusive marriage and you’ve been under so much stress. I’m not trying to judge you, but you have to consider that. What if you have another spiral? You still have anxiety and depression, what if you spiral and now there’s a gun in the house as justification?”

“I’m not going to hurt myself, Olivia.”

“I know you don’t think you will. I know you’re doing everything you can to stay strong for the kids, but this situation is different, Addison. If things get worse, if your mental health takes a hit again, I don’t want you having easy access to a way to make the pain stop. This isn’t just about protecting you from him. I also have to consider if you need protection from yourself.”

“I’m just trying to have a way to protect myself, and my children.”

“This isn’t the way to do that.” Olivia says urgently. “There are better ways. You can file a police report, so you’re gonna fight him in court. You’re going to get a restraining order against him. You’re going to serve him with divorce papers asking for sole custody of Emilia and Arabella. We’ll get you the best defense attorney to write you one hell of a complaint. When you win, you will be free Addison, and I’m gonna help you, in a way that doesn’t put you more at risk.” When she suggests that I file a restraining order against Ethan, the tension between us thickens.

“What’s a piece of paper going to do when he comes home? A restraining order will do nothing to protect me, or the children.” My eyes fill with anger that she would even suggest something so baseless. My anger fueled not by her, but by being in a bad situation for far too long, fed by every threatening word, every physical attack.

“Addison, I understand you're scared, but a restraining order is more than just a piece of paper. It's an official record—something that tells the law he's not allowed near you, near the kids. If he violates it, we can arrest him. You’ll have the full backing of law enforcement. It triggers a faster response if anything happens. It gives us grounds to act before things get out of control."

“And what happens in those minutes, or hours before the police get there, Olivia? When he’s already inside? When it’s too late and I have no way to protect myself?” My voice cracks, and the vulnerability beneath my anger starts to show. “A restraining order might stop a rational person, but we both know he’s not rational. I know you mean well, I know you want to help me, but you can’t stop him if he really wants to hurt me.” I begin to cry, and I can’t stop it. My voice trembles as I speak, the weight of the secret I’ve hidden for so long spilling out.

“Addison…”

“I’ve done everything in my power to make sure the girls are safe if anything happens.” I whisper, hands shaking as I wipe the tears away. “Emilia and Arabella…they share a bedroom. Not because we don’t have enough rooms, but because the entrance to the safe room is in their bedroom. The locks only work from the inside. I had it constructed when Ethan was on that trip to Seattle the year Emilia turned one.”

“That was the year of your suicide attempt.” Olivia says, trying to piece together the timeline.

“Yes.” I confirm. Olivia listens in silence, her face a mask of concern but I can’t stop myself now. The words keep tumbling out, each one cutting deeper.

“Olivia it’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s a game that we play, so she won’t be afraid if it happens for real. Like a tornado drill at school.” I try to explain, though  my voice shakes. “On nights when her Daddy’s not home, we play the quiet game. Emilia takes Arabella into the room and locks the door. They cannot come out until I tell her that It’s safe.” I hesitate, realizing how close to child abuse this sounds, eyes glancing up to meet   Olivia’s. “There’s a phone in there registered in my name, but it only has you as the only other contact besides me. I…I had to choose someone that Emilia knows is safe. When I come to get her after, there’s a button I press that rings a bell in the room so she knows it’s me.”

“What if they need something or…”

“The room is set up like a tiny apartment. There is a bed for Amelia and a safe sleep space for Arabella. There’s a working bathroom, water, snacks and toys, diapers, wipes, formula, everything that she needs to be kept entertained.” I look down, feeling ashamed. “I taught her how to feed Arabella, how to change her diapers, just incase. She knows how to use the phone, how to call you. We practice.”  Olivia’s voice shifts from concern to anger, grief, maybe both. She waits, and my chest tightens as I force myself to continue.

“At first we started with just one or two minutes, but now that Emilia is used to it she can stay in the room longer without getting scared, and Arabella…this is all she’s ever known.” I hate myself for the next thing I am about to say. “This is their normal, our normal, Olivia.”

“Addison…” Olivia begins, voice careful, but firm. “What if something happened to you? What if you couldn’t get back to them? You didn’t tell anybody?”

“I’m telling you now, and that’s why the phone is there, isn’t it? If something happens, she can call you. It’s not a foolproof plan.” I admit, my voice so soft now. “Nobody knows about it, and you’re only just finding out. If something happens and I am no longer here to protect them, she will have the responsibility that no child her age should have, she’s been trained to call you, Olivia, to call for help. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I… I didn’t want to worry about how bad things have truly become for me.” 

“What happens if she doesn’t know how? Or the battery dies or she panics and doesn’t understand what’s happening? You said this started when she was a baby. A baby, Addison. What would she have done then? What could she have done?”

“Maybe you should have kept her.” I murmur, but I don’t mean it. “She knows what to do now, Olivia. She’s smart, and strong. We’ve practiced this, over and over, especially now that we have Arabella now and there are more steps involved.”

“She’s strong, but she shouldn’t have to be.” Olivia cuts in gently. “You’re asking too much of her, Addison. What if she’s in that room, all alone and he kills you? How long would she stay there waiting? Not knowing? Waiting for you to come and you never do?”

“I am doing the best I can.” I say, my voice tight, almost pleading. “Olivia…This safe room, the phone, the drills with Emilia…it’s all to keep them safe. She’ll know where to go, what to do until help arrives if the worst happens.”

“Addison…” She starts letting out a exasperated sigh. “You’re going to have to do better.” She blurts out. I can tell from the instant look of regret that she didn’t mean it,  her tone is sharp. The words land hard. I look up at her, feeling defensive.

“Do better?” I repeat, my voice low, wounded. “Are you serious right now, Olivia? After knowing me for this long, after everything I’ve done, everything I’m still doing to keep these children safe…you think I’m not doing enough? That I’m failing them?”

“Addison, I didn’t mean that.” She says, quickly backtracking. “I’m sorry. What I meant was that this isn’t sustainable. You can’t keep living like this, getting abused while your children hide. Addison…” She trails off for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Emilia shouldn’t know how to hide. Arabella…she’s just a baby and Emilia shouldn’t know how to care for her. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t live with the anxiety of knowing that one day  he’ll snap.”

“I know Ethan would never hurt the children.” I say. “He’s not a monster, Olivia. This is just a safety net. Just incase things get dangerously out of hand and I…”

“Just in case?” Olivia echoes. Cutting me off. “You’ve built a panic room into your children’s bedroom. You’re teaching them to hide from their father, who you think might hurt you. This isn’t normal. This is…this is escalating and I’m worried about what happens next.”

 

 

“He would never hurt them.” I insist, my voice rising in defense. “Yes, he’s a little rough with me sometimes. That’s different. He has never raised a hand to the children, never crossed a line with them. He loves them more than anything.”

“A little rough?” Olivia asks, her tone sharp again, her eyes lock onto mine, challenging me. “Your definition of ‘a little rough’ is what’s hidden underneath that make-up?” She asks gesturing towards my face, and my neck, tone laced with disbelief. I instinctively touch my cheek, as though I can somehow erase the evidence that Olivia is pointing out. My stomach twists and I feel the familiar rush of shame.

“It’s not like that.” I promise in a defensive tone, already prepared for an argument. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I’m alright.” Olivia’s expression tightens, her patience wearing thin.

“Not as bad? Addison, you’re covering up bruises with make-up and they’re getting progressively worse. This isn’t just from last night either. Don’t tell me that’s just a little rough. That’s abuse, you know it, I know it, and it’s not okay. Please…” Olivia begs. “Tell me that you know.”

“I know.” I whisper softly.

“I’ve seen so many cases like this before.” Olivia says, trying to balance empathy with her professional knowledge. “It always starts with ‘he wouldn’t hurt the children’. Abuse escalates, it changes. Just because he hasn’t hurt them yet, doesn’t mean he won’t.” I swallow hard, as I try to explain, to find some way to make her understand.

“It’s my fault.” I say quietly. “I push  him too far sometimes, and it backfires. I know how to get under his skin, and when I do, things…escalate. It’s not like this all the time, Olivia. He’s good to the children, never even raised his voice at them. He’s just under so much stress with the promotion at work and I…”

“The promotion at work that happened three years ago?” She asks me. I fall silent. “Just stop. Please.” She requests, her tone firm, but not unkind. “You do not push him into anything. This isn’t your fault and you cannot keep telling yourself that if you were different, if you acted a certain way or did certain things he wouldn’t hurt you. He’s making the choice, not you and you’re not invincible, Addison.”

“It won’t come to the point that I can’t get back to them. I won’t let it.”

“You’re doing everything you can to protect them, but what about protecting yourself?”

“I’m doing what I have to, I’m doing what I can.” I justify, then Olivia speaks, her voice steady but full of resolve.

“Addison, you can’t save them from him by pretending everything’s fine. The longer this goes on, the more you’re teaching them that this is normal. That it’s okay to live in fear. You’ve done what you had to, to survive, but it’s time to get out.” I wipe my face, tears mixing with the guilt and fear that have been my constant companion for years. I know that Olivia is right. I’ve known for a very long time. But knowing and being strong enough to do something about it two very different things.

“I know you’re scared. I know you’re trying to protect them, but this… this isn’t protection, Addison. This is survival. And it’s not enough. Not anymore. I’m not saying that you’re failing. I know that you’re trying, and I know how much you love them, but this is spiraling, Addison.  You’re setting up a hidden room and escape drills, for something you’re convinced is never going to happen. How much longer can you balance this? How long until the children begin to understand why they are playing ‘the quiet game’? Until they start to feel the fear that you’re trying so desperately to hide and realize that you’re getting hurt?”

“I…I’ve protected them.” I insist. “They’ve never seen anything. I’ve made sure of it.” My mind flashes to my daughter, to the quiet game, to prepping my preschooler on how to survive until help arrives if I’m not here and the hidden room. I hate this for them, for me. I know what Olivia is saying is true, even if it’s painful.

“You can’t protect them forever, Addison. They are smart, so smart, especially Emilia and I guarantee you she knows something’s wrong. Even if kids do not witness the abuse they can still feel it. They know when something’s not right.”

“You don’t understand. I know when to back off. I know when I’ve gone too far, and I didn’t last night or this morning. I was angry, and I kept pushing. I shouldn’t have. I know better.”

“Addison, listen to me. You’re blaming yourself for his violence. That’s not how this works. You shouldn’t have to know when to back off, or be teaching your child any of the things you’ve taught her regarding this or living in a constant state of managing his emotions to avoid getting hurt.”

“I’m not managing him.”

“That much is obvious.” Olivia says gently gesturing to the bruises.

“I’m just really bad at this.” I almost whimper. “When he’s stressed things get bad. I should be able to deal with that. I’m his wife and I am supposed to be his support system.”

“Support system does not equal punching bag.” Olivia counters. “You’re bending over backward to make excuses for him, Addison, and I know why you’re doing it. You’re scared, and you think that if you take the blame, make it your fault then maybe you can control it, but you can’t. You can’t fix him Addison. He’s never going to change. You have to.”

“I…it’s just that…” but the truth is I don’t know what to say. I stare at the floor, hands trembling.

“You don’t know, Addison.” Olivia says gently. “I’m sure there was a time when you never thought he would hurt you either. I know you want to hold onto those good days, Addison. Good moments don’t erase the bad. They don’t make it okay that he’s hurting you and you’ve had to take all of these extra precautions to keep the girls safe. One day, the bad is going to outweigh the good. The bad moments will spill over onto the children. Do you want to wait until that happens to finally leave this behind?”

“I…”

“Look at where this has left you.” Olivia says softly. “You’re hiding severe bruises, trying to convince yourself that this is all manageable, but it’s not. This is breaking you, you have to get out before it starts to break them too.”

“I don’t know what to do.” I finally whisper. “I’m scared of what will happen if I leave, he’ll come after us. He’ll find me again. I can’t keep running forever.”

“You don’t have to do this alone.” Olivia says softly. “There are people who can help you, I can help you, but you have to stop protecting him. You need to protect yourself and your children.” Olivia pauses, and then takes my hands in hers. “You’re right, Addison. A police report and restraining order may not change everything. It doesn’t fix everything right away. It’s not going to solve the whole problem, but it’s a start. It’s away for you to document what’s happening—to give us something to work with. We’ll use it to keep watch, to be ready if he makes a move. I won’t pretend it’s perfect, but it’s better than doing nothing. And you won't be alone in this."

“What if I’m wrong? What if things get better?”

“What if you’re right, and it doesn’t get better?” I ask her. “What if this is just the beginning? It’s already gotten progressively worse. You can’t live your life waiting for him to change, to magically improve. You have to take action now, before it’s too late.”

My hands tremble as I wrap my arms around myself, my mind racing with all the things that could go wrong if I leave. How can I make this okay for my children? Especially when he has contacts and can track where I am based off my bank or credit card usage? It’s unlawful surveillance, but it hasn’t stopped him from paying someone off in the past. I wouldn’t put it past him to have private investigators looking for me, maybe even the FBI. He would need to know where I am for visitation with the kids…I don’t know how to keep that from happening, or if I even should. ‘He’s not this way with them.’ Keeps playing over and over in my mind.

“Look, I know this isn’t enough to make you feel safe right now. But trust me—we’ll make sure you have protection. You file the order, and I’ll personally see to it that we have patrols nearby, eyes on your home. And if he violates it, we’ll make sure he faces the full force of the law. You have my word, Addison. This isn’t just about paperwork. It’s about making sure we have every legal tool at our disposal to protect you and the kids.”

“I’m thinking that I may actually need to send the children away for a time.” I say numbly, the words sound so foreign coming from me, as if I can’t quite believe that I am saying them aloud.

“Addison…” Olivia says freezing, just watching me. I know she doesn’t believe what she’s hearing. She doesn’t want to consider the desperation it would take for me to even think of something like this, remembering the day I gave her Emilia. Is it that bad again?

“Bizzy and Susan…they don’t know the full extent of what’s going on, but they’ve offered to take the girls for a time.” I continue my voice cracking slightly, betraying me in revealing how much I actually hate this idea. “It’s better than sending them to Ethan’s mom, and we could have some time to work through things.” 

“You hate your mother.” Olivia says bluntly, brows knitted together in concern. She knows how fractured my relationship with Bizzy is. She’s probably so confused wondering why I would even consider this an option, let alone say it out loud.

“I love Susan though. We were always close.” Susan…she was always such a source or warmth when Bizzy was always so cold. She taught me that it’s okay to be me when Bizzy insisted I be just about anyone else. She never okay with the true me. “She’ll look after them.”

“Did she make sure that you were safe?” She asks me.

“I…”

“Did Susan protect you, Addison? Did she ever really shield you from Bizzy, from that cold, brutal house you grew up in or did she just stand by and let it happen?”

The memories flood back to me. The long, empty hallways of the mansion that I grew up in. The constant pressure to be perfect, the way my mother, Bizzy, I was never allowed to call her mother, had wielded control like a weapon, slicing through my every attempt to escape the suffocating expectations. Susan had been kind, yes, she was the mother figure I wanted, needed, but she was never brave enough to challenge Bizzy. She was never strong enough to save me from the emotional neglect that had defined my upbringing. The truth is, they both pawned me, and my brother Archer off on Nannies. Susan had always been a comfort, but never a protector.

“Olivia please.” I whisper, feeling myself unraveling. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you. I’m doing the best that I can.”

“I know that you are, Addie.” She says softly. “Sending them to Bizzy and Susan is just repeating the same cycle though. You’re afraid, I get that, and you need support, but you can’t run away from this, from them. Those children need you, not some distant version of safety that may or may not exist. You are their strength. You’re their safety and I’m telling you this right now because you are strong enough to do this.”

“I don’t feel strong.” I confess. “I feel like I’m drowning, Olivia.. Every day. I’m just waiting for the moment when everything falls a part.”

“Don’t let fear make this decision, or any decision for you. Be confident in yourself. Don’t give Ethan or your past the power to choose for you.” Olivia states, almost pleading. “Addie your children need you here, with them. They need their mother, and you have to fight for them, even when it feels impossible.” I know that Olivia is right, I’ve known all along, but the fear is overwhelming. The thought of keeping the children close while Ethan’s threats against me loom over me feels like a nightmare that I can’t escape. I exhale shakily, finally lifting my gaze to meet Olivia’s again. 

“I feel like I’m going to fail them.” I admit, voice breaking. “My mother failed me.”

“You’re not Bizzy, Addison. You have always done so much better than she ever did, just by caring this much. That alone makes you a better mother. The only way you will ever fail them is if you refuse to leave.”

“I shouldn’t be their mother. If I wasn’t their mother they wouldn’t have witnessed the things they have. I try to hide it from them, they’ve never seen him hurt me, but Emilia…she’s so smart, Olivia.” My voice cracks when I say my daughters name, feeling so much guilt pressing down on my chest. I may not have failed them, but I feel like I’ve failed them. They are paying for my mistakes. They are paying for me not being good enough to make him happy.

“Addison, that’s not true.” She says firmly. “You’re a good mother. You’re just in an impossible situation.” She tells me all the time that I’m not to blame for this mess, Ethan is. I don’t say anything to her, but I feel a flicker of relief that Olivia didn’t immediately agree to help me get the weapon. The truth is that Olivia is right in everything she’s saying tonight. I am afraid of what I might do, how far that my desperation could push me. So many dark thoughts have been creeping into my mind lately, terrifying me, but I keep them hidden. A part of me is relieved that I wasn’t handed a way out too quickly, though it leaves me feeling more conflicted, more trapped.

“How is them seeing me like this any better for them?” I ask quietly, my eyes searching Olivia’s for answers. There is so much self-doubt in my voice. “What kind of an example am I setting for them?” Olivia exhales softly, meeting my gaze with unwavering honesty.

“It depends on how you choose to proceed.” She says gently. “They can see you get stronger, or they can see you continue on this downward spiral.”

“I’m not spiraling.” I snap, but before I even say it I know I don’t sound convincing.

“A bruise on your face and neck that you’re trying to hide, considering dropping your kids off with family that you hate, asking for help getting a weapon when you’re not sure what you’ll do with it. Addie, if that’s not spiraling, what is it?” Her voice is gentle, but the words cut through my defenses, forcing me to confront the truth I’ve been avoiding.

I drop my gaze, my throat tightening. I want to argue, want to insist that I’m fine, that I’m holding together for the children, but the words die in my throat because deep down I know that Olivia is telling the truth. I am spiraling. Things are getting worse. The fear, the helplessness, the way that Ethan has tightened his grip on my life. Everything is closing in on me and I don’t know how to stop it.

“I don’t know how to be the mother that they deserve when I can’t even take care of myself. I’m doing everything that I can, Olivia.”

“Take the first step. File the report. You can’t keep letting Ethan control your life, your choices.”

“And if he finds out?”

“If he finds out you let us protect you. Strength doesn’t mean not being afraid, Addison. It means fighting through the fear, even when you don’t think you can.” She pauses for a few moments. “You don’t have to do it alone, but you can’t give up. You have to be willing to fight, to believe that you deserve change. “Emilia’s smart, like you said. She sees more than you think. And what she sees next depends on what you do now. A good father doesn’t hurt their children’s mother,” Olivia says softly, her words cutting through the silence.

“Will you take me to the hospital?” I ask her finally. “I’ll make a police report there, I’ll do it, if you stay with me.” I offer. I just don’t want to fight anymore. I’m so tired. Olivia’s eyes widen with relief, the tension that’s been gripping her shoulders for what feels like hours loosening.

“Okay,   okay. We’ll go.” She says, but there is a trace of urgency now, like she’s afraid I may change my mind. “But not to the hospital where you work. You know that right? We need to go somewhere where no one will recognize  you, somewhere safe. There is a hospital that’s closer, just a few miles away actually.” I nod numbly. I hadn’t even thought of that. Ethan is working tonight. The last thing I need is for my coworkers to find out. The rumor mill is insane, Ethan would know within minutes.

“Not my name either.” I say, my voice steadier now, but the decision sounds so wrong. “I can’t use my real name, not for this. What if someone finds out and tells him?”

“Okay, you’re Jane Doe then. You’re not the first and you certainty won’t be the last. The important thing is that we get you checked out, that everything is documented. We can take next steps from there.”

I take a deep breath, trying to gather myself before we leave, but my mind flashes back to last night, and tonight with Ethan. It was consensual. I mean, not in the traditional sense, but we had a past agreement. I haven’t told Olivia yet. I haven’t found the words to say it, but now, as we’re about to leave it feels too important to ignore.

“There’s something else.” I say, voice shaking. Olivia turns back, looking at me expression concerned.

“What is it?” She asks softly, sensing the shift in my tone.

“He ra….” I can’t get the words to come out. “We um…”

“Addison…” She gently presses, sitting back down next to me. “You don’t have to be afraid.” I swallow hard, trying to find the words to say. “Tell me what happened. You’ve been bruised more often than not lately,” Olivia says quietly, as if saying it out loud might make me  hear the reality of my situation in a way I haven’t before. “Lately, I feel like I’d be more shocked if you weren’t bruised than if you are. I haven’t said much, I know how hard, you’re trying to hide it, but you need help before things get worse.”

The words hit harder than I expect, cutting though the haze of exhaustion and emotional numbness that I’ve been hiding behind. I don’t respond. I can feel my posture shift, my shoulders sag just a little, my jaw clenches, trying to hold back a wave of emotion that has no place here.

“We argued because I took emergency contraceptives last night, and then again this morning.” I say quietly. I glance up to Olivia, waiting for a reaction, but only seeing a calm patience in her eyes. “He found the boxes in the bathroom before he went to work tonight.” Olivia’s expression doesn’t change, but she shifts slightly, giving me her full attention. She knows that there is more to this story. There is always more to the story than whatever part I am willing to open up with.

“That caused an argument?”

“Yes.” I say quietly. “He wants another baby, a son.” I explain. “Women are typically very fertile in the weeks and months after giving birth, and I’m not getting any younger, but…I just…The condom broke last night when he rap…”I trail off, face flushing. I drop my gaze again, shame and embarrassment making it hard to continue. I feel the pressure of Olivia’s gaze. I quickly force myself to speak to cover up what I had accidentally almost said. “The condom broke last night, and again tonight, almost like it was intentional. Arabella is only seven weeks old. I just got the all clear from my doctor to return to work. I couldn’t handle the idea of being pregnant again so soon. I just…I had to make sure that pregnancy is not on my bingo card for a second time this year.”

“Did you almost say he raped you?” She asks.

“No.” I say quickly, too quickly. My heart races in my chest, pulse loud in my ears. “I said the condom ripped, twice.”

“That’s not what it sounded like you were going to say.”

“I had to take the morning after pill twice because he ripped the condom.” I say, my words rushed, cutting Olivia off. “He found the packages and got angry.” I repeat. I hesitate before continuing. “That’s not Rape, Olivia. We’re married. I’m tired I just…I mixed up my words.” I manage, but my voice wavers. The lie feels thin, as if it may shatter under her steady gaze. This isn’t fair.

"Did you want to have sex, to try and conceive a baby?" she asks, her tone carefully neutral. I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes, shame curling inside me like a suffocating weight. "Did you say no, either with your words or your body language?"

“Olivia…I know the protocol, you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do. As a police officer, as your friend, I do.” She says, but I know that the lines are blurring in her mind. They’re blurring in mine.

I fall silent, not responding at first. The silence is so loud, almost unbearable as the truth struggles to escape. I replay the night in my mind, the refusal on my part, his resistance, the way I froze when he was going to do it any way without the medication that is a part of our agreement. The bruise on my neck came from him trying to silence me so the Nanny and children wouldn’t hear if they came back from their evening trip to dinner and the playground early. I fought him until he gave in and he injected me with the medication, and then I stopped as my body numbed. It’s not rape. For someone else it might be, but I gave consent when we defaulted to our previous agreement, before the pregnancy and post partum period. The truth I've been avoiding begins to surface, cracking through my defenses.

“I said no.” I whisper. The admission feels like a betrayal to the marriage, to the whole idea that I have been clinging to that this is going to work out. “I didn’t want to have sex. I said no. I told him I didn’t want to have a baby. I haven’t started birth control yet. He said he would use a condom, but then the condom broke, twice. If…I’m already ovulating the emergency contraceptive is less effective, and I…I  just…but I had to do something, at least try.”

Olivia’s face doesn’t harden with judgment; instead, it softens, her empathy substantial. She doesn't flinch, doesn’t look away, as if giving me the strength to keep speaking. Her next words land gently but with the weight of undeniable truth.

"That’s spousal rape. It’s still rape, Addison, I don’t understand why if happened to anyone else you would know the answers, but when it comes to your own situation you’re oblivious." she says quietly, the words firm, grounding me in a reality I’ve been refusing to see.

“No.” I say softly. “Olivia you’re misunderstanding. I’m sorry I made this sound like something it isn’t. This is just a game.” I say, trying to hold onto the idea that what happens between Ethan and I is something innocent that I can explain away. “There’s nothing wrong with playing games.”

“I don’t like the ‘games’ your family play.” Olivia says, her expression hardening slightly. Olivia’s expression hardens just slightly, the softness in her eyes replaced by something sharper—something more police-like, investigative. “Addison, you’re describing something dangerous, something you don’t have control over. Is that really a game to you? Or is it something he’s made you believe is okay? If you wouldn’t tell someone else it’s okay it shouldn’t be okay for you.” I blink, unsure how to respond, the logic of what she’s saying slowly settling into my mind, though I resist it. I open my mouth to speak, but the words are stuck in my throat. She presses on.

“How long has this been going on?” She asks. I look at her, confused, because for a very long time it has been this way between Ethan and I.

“A while.” I say softly. “He really wants a son.” I try to justify. “Things were normal at first, but after the suicide attempt…the medications I was on, the injuries I had. I didn’t want to have sex, but he still wanted a son. I suggested a surrogate, but he insisted our children ‘match’ and I wasn’t medically clear to do egg retrievals for IVF.” I say softly, voice eerily calm.

“Addison…you broke your pelvis in that car crash. You had learn to walk again…You needed surgery and were in the hospital for weeks recovering, wheelchair bound for months before you were back to normal.” She reminds me, and I just shrug. This has become my normal. Not whatever version of normal she is speaking of.

“I consented to the medication I need it.” I admit, voice trembling. “Every time. Every single time.” I swallow hard. “It’s been so long that I can’t have sex with out it anymore. It keeps me calm, keeps me from having panic attacks.”

“Addie…”

“I got pregnant after the suicide attempt.” I admit, eyes fixed on the ground. “I lost the baby at eighteen weeks.” I try to keep the coldness out of my tone when I speak of him, but I can’t. I want to say that I love him as much as my other children, but the physical pain surrounding his conception, and how the abuse escalated after I lost him... I don’t know.  It wasn’t his fault it was mine, for being too broken to carry him.

“I’m so sorry.” Olivia says gently. “Addison, I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” I reply, my voice hard, numb. “Telling would have meant letting someone else in…into this hell that I’ve been living. I couldn’t do that, Olivia. So I found another way. With the medication I don’t have to feel anything. I can just…disappear. He gets what he wants and I’m…well I’m not really there. It keeps everything safe.” Olivia’s jaw tightens and her fists clinch at her sides. She’s looking like she wants to shake me out of this warped reality that Ethan has created, but she doesn’t hurt me, just reworks her focus.

“You could have told me.” She says softly. “You didn’t deserve to go through that alone.”

“It was for the best.” I murmur, though the words don’t sit right with me. “The pregnancy was causing complications with the way I was healing. I would have needed more surgery and hardware placed if it had continued. Sometimes when something isn’t going right, nature has a way of sorting it out. Of keeping everyone safe.” I swallow hard. I scare myself at how cold I sound.

“Safe?” She repeats. “Addison, that’s not safety. That’s control. He’s controlling you and the thought that you need drugs to get through sex with your husband, of him doing that when you were not even fully recovered from a suicide attempt is…”  She trails off. I’m not sure what she was originally going to say, but she continues with “He’s controlling you, even when you’re not aware, what you’re describing is rape. It’s abuse.”

“Olivia. This might not be your thing, and that’s okay, but  I consented. It’s better this way.” I whisper as if I am trying to convince myself. “If I don’t have panic attacks, the girls don’t wake up. Ethan doesn’t get angry. It’s over and done faster. I asked for the medication.”

“How many times?” She asks, her tone sharper now.

“What do you mean?”

“How many times did he force you after you were out of the hospital before you ended up with PTSD and came to the conclusion that being drugged was a better alternative than leaving him?”

“A few.” I admit. “Just a few…” But I feel like I need to justify it somehow. “But I consented…Olivia I…I just wanted everything to get back to normal…after the attempt…after I lost the baby, everything in my life got worse.”

 “Addison, baby, this is not normal. You didn’t deserve to lose him, not like that, Addie.”

The word “baby,” spoken with such tenderness, makes me look up at her reluctantly. The way she says it feels different—like she’s trying to pull me back from something, like she’s reminding me of the person I am beneath all of this. Her eyes hold mine, and I can see the care in them, the concern that’s making her voice waver just slightly.

“Sometimes ordinary is just what you’re used to.” I say with a shrug. “It wasn’t ordinary at first, but now it is. It’s just another part of my life that I need to escape from.”

“This whole mess has been my fault, and losing the baby confirmed that.” I say, speaking the lie that Ethan has thrown in my face over and over again, and then my own thoughts. “I’m being punished because I stayed, because I did not leave sooner, because I let it happen. I’m not strong enough to fight, and when I’m compliant he’s calmer. I have less ‘accidents’.”

“You are not being punished, Addison. You did not deserve the abuse you faced then, or what you’re going through now. You deserve better.”

“It’s just hard to believe sometimes.”

“I know it feels like this is how it’s supposed to be because it’s been happening for so long,” she continues, “but it’s not right. It’s not a game. He’s taking advantage of you, of your trust, your body, and your vulnerability.” Addison sits there, trembling, her hands gripping the sides of the hospital bed as though it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Her breaths come in shallow, uneven age asps as she finally opens her mouth to speak.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” I murmur. “It’s only bad this time because it was the first times since the baby was born.” I whisper. Olivia has to lean in closer to hear me. “He forgot to give me the shot first and I…I had a panic attack.”

I fall silent. Olivia looks calm, collected. It confuses me. Is she just as numb inside as I am? Or is she seething inside thinking about how this isn’t just manipulation…this is systematic, calculated abuse and the thought of Ethan keeping me in this vicious cycle making her want to tear him a part limb from limb? Sex shouldn’t be used as a bargaining chip, or a weapon against someone.

"You’ve been dependent on this drug," Olivia says slowly, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "He’s been drugging you to control you, Addison. Don’t you see that? At this point it’s nearly logical that you’d need it. You brain associates sex with the drug. You’re not registering this as what it is because of that."

“I know.” I choke out. “It’s the only way I can get through it though. Without the shot I…I can’t…I can’t handle it. I can’t breathe and it feels like I’m dying and I don’t know how to stop it.” Olivia moves closer, her head resting gently on my shoulder.

“Addison, you’re stronger than this.” Olivia says. “You don’t need the shot. You don’t need him. This…this isn’t even surviving. This is him stripping you of everything – your autonomy, your control, your freedom to make choices regarding your own body. It doesn’t matter if you consented in the past. This time you said no.”

“It’s the price I pay, Olivia, but it isn’t a bad one.” I whisper. “What if it gets worse? What if you’re right and he ends up hurting the girls?”

“That price is too high. He’s already hurting them.” Olivia says, her tone filled with a fierce protectiveness. “Every time he does this to you, he’s hurting them. You might not see it, but   they’re watching. They’re learning from the way he treats you. They deserve to see you strong, Addison. They deserve to see you fight for yourself. Tell me more about these games…What happens? Why do you call them games?"

“It sounds less fucked up, less traumatizing if it sounds like it’s just a game, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe in your mind.” Olivia offers. Olivia leans in, her expression shifting to one of concern as she carefully broaches the subject. “Addison, what about the shot you mentioned earlier? The one you were given before your…” She stops, “Games with Ethan?” The look on her face makes it clear she hates that phrasing.

“Like I said, It’s called midazolam,” I explain. “It’s a sedative. It’s injected like a shot or a vaccine.” Olivia’s brow furrows as she processes what I’m saying.

“Where do they inject it?”

I lift my arm, rubbing the skin gently to reveal the area where the makeup had hidden the truth. The makeup slides away, and a deep bruise emerges, dark and angry against my skin. It’s a mark of something far more sinister than I’ve been willing to admit. “Right here,” I say, my voice faltering as I trace the outline of the bruise with my finger. It never truly seems to heal, he doesn’t change injection sites like a reasonable person would.

“Addison…” Olivia’s voice drops, concern threading through her words. “That’s a pretty big bruise how often does this happen?”

“Enough.” I say quietly. “I know you don’t understand, Olivia, but I need it.”

“Are you being serious?” She asks, her voice shaking slightly. “This…this is a regular occurrence for you?” She’s looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and horror. I can see her struggling to process my words, I can’t blame her. It doesn’t sound believable, like something from the pages of a dystopian future novel.

 “Yes. It’s part of his routine,” I say quietly, the reality of my situation sinking in deeper. The thought that I’ve allowed this to happen, that I’ve accepted it as part of my life, makes my stomach churn. “I know it’s not what everyone else would consider normal, but it’s normal to me, and if I’m okay with it, that’s consent.”

“This isn’t normal, Addison,” Olivia says firmly, her voice laced with urgency. “You shouldn’t be subjected to this, not ever. No one should be. This is abuse, plain and simple.”

“Olivia…”

“Would you willingly be having sex with him if you were not medicated?” She challenges me.

I flinch at her words, but they resonate with a truth I can no longer deny. The way she looks at me, with such fierce determination, makes me feel seen in a way I haven’t felt in years. I realize now how much I’ve been lying to myself, how deeply I’ve buried my fears and concerns beneath the surface.

“I don’t know.” I admit, and she gives me a look, she knows that I’m not telling the truth. “No. No. I wouldn’t.” I say, thinking of the panic attack I had when I didn’t get the medication.

“It’s not consent then. Addison, we need to figure out a way to get you out of this.” She continues. “You deserve to be safe and to have control over your own body. This isn’t just about the shot or the bruises. It’s about your life, your future, the future of your babies.”

I look down at the bruise on my arm, I feel a surge of anger rise within me. It’s time to break free from this cycle, to reclaim my own story. This has gone on for far too long. I can’t let this define me any longer. Can I trust that Olivia can truly help me to untangle the mess that I’ve found myself in? Can I give myself and my children the life we deserve?

“Addison you’ve had relationships before, you’re an educated woman.” She says, voice raising but only slightly. “When you get out of this, you can never come back to this again.”

 “It’s not like it happened all at once,” I reply, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks. My voice firm but tinged with hurt. “It was just little things, slowly building up over time. It didn’t seem like it was anything serious at first. “I take a breath, the memories flooding back—moments I tried to brush off, signs I ignored. “By the time it got really bad, I already had a toddler and an unborn child,” I continue, my voice shaking slightly. “You shouldn’t be judging me right now.”

Olivia's expression softens a bit, but the fire still simmers beneath her concern. “I’m not judging you, Addison,” she insists, her tone earnest. “I’m just trying to understand how this happened, how it escalated to the point where you’re feeling trapped. How you’re considering this really bad now, but not 3 years ago when you nearly committed suicide. It’s not just about you anymore; it’s about your children, too. You all deserve better than this.”

I know she’s right, but the weight of her words feels suffocating. “It started with things I thought were harmless,” I say, trying to articulate the slow creep of his control. “Little comments here and there, dismissing my feelings, undermining my decisions. At first, I thought it was just him being protective or caring. I convinced myself that it was love.”

“Addison, that’s not love,” Olivia interjects, her voice gentle yet firm. “That’s manipulation. Love shouldn’t feel suffocating or make you doubt yourself.”

I nod, feeling the sting of tears prick at my eyes. “I know that now,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper. “But when you’re in it, it’s hard to see. You just keep hoping things will change, that he’ll come around. You want to believe that the good moments outweigh the bad.”

“So you stayed silent,” Olivia says softly, her eyes searching mine for understanding. “You felt you had to protect your family, even if it meant enduring pain.”

“Yes,” I admit, the weight of my truth crashing down around me. “I thought that if I just kept everything together, if I played the role of the happy wife and mother, it would all get better. But it didn’t.

“You need a rape kit done, Addison. Tonight if at all possible.” Olivia says, her tone leaving no room for negotiation or hesitation. I shiver at her words, my breath catching in my throat. The clinical coldness of a rape kit, the invasive nature of it. It feels so final, so real. My mind races, trying to think of a way that I can get out of this. I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes.

“Did you shower?” Olivia asks. She knows. She knows what’s coming next and so do. Working as a gynecologist I have done more rape kits than I’d like to admit. It’s a broken world we live in.

“Yes, and I changed my clothing. The ones I was wearing have been washed. I don’t need a rape kit, there is no evidence to be collected.” I admit, almost defensively, as though I could wash him off of me, out of me. Cleanse myself of the whole experience, but this isn’t the first time it’s happened. It won’t be the last time as long as I stay. Not until he get his son. I wish I could forget how dysfunctional my sex life has become.

"For how long?" she presses, her eyes never leaving my face. I can see the concern deepening in her gaze, the understanding that every second under the hot water could mean lost evidence.

"I don’t know," I mumble, looking down at my hands, as though the answer might be written there. But the truth is, I lost track of time in the shower. The water felt like it was burning, but I couldn’t stop. "The sun was up when I got out."

Olivia closes her eyes briefly, the subtle sigh escaping her lips betraying the gravity of the situation. She knows that any potential evidence might be gone, washed down the drain with the water. But she doesn’t say it outright, not yet. She’s gentle with me in ways I’m not even sure I deserve right now. I never intended to file a report, this isn’t abnormal for our marriage.

"How much sleep have you had since this happened?" she asks, her voice laced with genuine concern. It’s not just the physical evidence she’s worried about; it’s me, my mental state, the exhaustion she sees written in my face. I just shrug. I can’t even remember the last time I slept. The night bleeds into the day, the memories twisting and overlapping in ways that make it hard to think straight. But I know sleep isn’t something I can afford right now. Not with everything swirling around me.

"It’s not unusual," I try to justify, my voice brittle. “I don’t need a test, I’m okay.”

"It should be," Olivia presses, her voice growing firmer, but still filled with concern. She steps closer, her hand resting gently on my arm, trying to pull me back from the numbness I’m retreating into. "Addison, it should be. You’re running on empty, and your body needs rest to heal. But right now, we need to focus on getting you the medical help you need."

Her words stir something in me, a flicker of self-awareness that I've been pushing away. I feel like I’ve been operating in a haze, pretending that if I don’t name it, if I don’t acknowledge it, then maybe it didn’t really happen. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it feels. But hearing her say it out loud—rape kit, shower, sleep—it pulls me back to the truth.

“I don’t know how to fight anymore.” I say quietly.

“You already made the first steps, you decided to let me take you to the hospital, you decided to file a police report. You have to decide to leave for good, Addison.”

“What if I can’t?” I ask her. “There are too many moving pieces.” I whisper, I hate how small and broken my voice sounds.

“You are strong enough, and  you’ve always been strong enough.” She stops, thinking for a few moments. “If you’re not…then I’ll be strong enough for the both of us.”

 For the first time, I let myself believe that maybe…just maybe there’s a way out of this. That maybe I can find a way to break free from Ethan’s grasp. For now all I can do is cling to Olivia’s words, to the promise of something better, something beyond this nightmare. Is that enough to start?

“Am I a bad person Olivia?” I ask.

“No.” She answers without hesitation, without even the time to think it through. “Do you feel like a bad person?” She asks gently, her voice free of judgement, though she’s watching me carefully. I hesitate for a moment, but the truth spills out before I can stop it.

"After the way he reacted, I do," I admit, the memory of his anger still fresh, the way he looked at me like I had committed some unforgivable sin. The guilt that’s been eating away at me ever since—it feels like it’s consuming me from the inside out.

"Addison, no," Olivia says softly but firmly, moving closer, her presence steady and grounding. "I don’t think you’re a bad person at all." She reaches out, her hand resting gently on mine, her touch reassuring. "You have to do what’s best for you, for your family. You can’t live your life trying to please someone who doesn’t consider your needs, your safety. You can’t cater your life to what someone else wants for you. If you don’t want to get pregnant again this soon, that’s your choice and it’s okay to make."

"The thought of being pregnant again," I begin, my voice shaking as I let out the truth I’ve been too scared to voice aloud. "The thought of pretending like I’m happy about it, of going through it all over again just... the thought of dying at his hand was more comforting." I close my eyes, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside me. The desperation I felt when I took those pills, the sense of finality—it wasn’t just about preventing a pregnancy. It was about survival. “I have two children. I cannot find comfort in the thought of death. That scares me, more than anything that he’s ever done to me.”

“I know.” She soothes. “I know how overwhelming it must feel, like there’s no way out, but Addison, trust me. You  just need an out and then things will start to improve.” I nod, though my body feels numb, weighed down by everything. I want to believe her, but the fear of what might happen if I take that step, if I walk away—it’s paralyzing.

“But I should have known better,” I say, the guilt gnawing at me. “I feel so stupid.”

“Every relationship is different,” Olivia reassures me, her voice steady. “And you’re not stupid. You were trying to build a life, a family. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.”

I nod, allowing her words to sink in. “I just want to protect my children,” I say, my voice cracking. “But you’re right. I don’t want them to grow up thinking this is normal.”

“And they won’t,” Olivia promises, squeezing my hand tighter. “But you need to take that first step for yourself. You need to be the one to show them what love really looks like—what a safe, healthy relationship feels like.”

“He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t love me. If he didn’t want me to be a better person than I am.” I say, swallowing hard, trying to justify this, to save reputation, even though it’s not deserved. I need a future that doesn’t feel like a cage, but right now, that feel impossible.

 “Do you like this game, Addison? Is it a game you actually want to play?” Olivia asks, studying my face intently.

I blink, unsure how to respond. My mind feels hazy, as if the question itself doesn’t make sense. Hadn’t I already told her no? Does she mean the ‘game’ with Ethan, or this game I am playing with my life? The words should come easily, but they don’t. I finally shake my head, the answer slipping out in a soft, defeated, "No." I repeat, but the word feels wrong in my mouth, as if it's a betrayal. "But that feels wrong. I... I consented to the medication because I don’t want to know, to feel what’s happening." I say, my voice faltering as I try to justify something that, deep down, I can’t fully justify anymore.

Olivia’s eyes narrow, her expression sharpening in that way she gets when she’s stepping into her role as a detective. “Consent means wanting to do something, Addison. Giving in because you feel like you have no other choice or because it’s easier to detach—that’s not the same as real consent. Do you understand the difference?”

I feel a lump in my throat, my defenses crumbling under her steady gaze. Of course I understand, but that doesn’t make it easier in my particular situation. "I just thought it was easier this way," I admit, my voice almost a whisper. "Easier to not fight, to not feel anything, to let it happen without being fully... present. It’s quiet when I’m sedated. I don't have to think about what’s really happening."

“And you don’t think that’s dangerous?” Olivia asks, her tone calm but firm, like she’s trying to get me to see something I’ve been blind to. “You’re willingly letting him medicate you to the point where you don’t even know what’s going on. That’s not safety, Addison. That’s control. And you’re giving it all to him.” Her words hit me like a punch, but there’s truth in them. I open my mouth to argue, to say that it’s not as bad as it seems, but the truth is, I’ve known all along that it was worse than I let myself believe.

 “Isn’t one of the side effects of midazolam amnesia?” she asks pointedly, her detective instincts kicking in. I nod slowly, feeling a sense of dread creeping up my spine.

“Yes, in high doses. In the low doses he typically gave me, it’s just under the level of twilight sedation,” I explain, my voice shaking. “You’re conscious, but you’re completely relaxed. You’re still aware of what’s happening, but you’re so relaxed that you can’t really move. It’s like your body is detached from your mind.” Olivia’s face hardens, her voice dropping lower, almost a whisper.

“So, you can’t fight back. You’re awake, but unable to resist, unable to stop him. That’s not consent, Addison. That’s not a game. “I swallow hard, the reality of her words hitting me like a wave of cold water. I want to tell her she’s wrong, that it’s not as sinister as it sounds, but even I can’t deny it anymore.

“It wasn’t always like this,” I mutter, my voice cracking. “At first, it was just a way to cope, to avoid the fights. But now… now it’s like I’m not even in control of my own body anymore.”

“And that’s exactly the point,” Olivia says softly, her voice steady and filled with concern. “He’s made you believe that numbing yourself is the only way to survive. He’s taken away your ability to say no, to stop him. That’s not consent, Addison. That’s coercion.”

 “You deserve better than this,” she says quietly. “But first, you have to stop trying to justify it.”

“You still don’t understand. It’s not misconduct on Ethan’s part,” I say quietly, as if repeating the words will make them more true. “I wanted it to happen. I asked him to give me the medication each time. I crave the calm it brings, the rest. Everything just… stops. I don’t have to think, or feel, or be anything. I can just exist.” Olivia shakes her head.

“Addison,” she begins, her voice calm yet firm, “the fact that you crave that feeling doesn’t mean what’s happening is okay. Wanting to escape, to feel calm, to rest—that’s human. But that doesn’t mean you’re truly consenting to everything that’s happening while you’re under the influence of that drug.” I look down, picking at my fingernails, feeling the weight of her words.  

“But I asked for it. I told him I wanted it. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?” Olivia sighs gently, leaning forward to make sure I hear her clearly.

“Addison, midazolam is a highly addictive sedative. It’s not just about giving yourself a break. Over time, you can become dependent on it, both physically and psychologically. I think you’re already starting to form a dependence on it, especially after all this time.”

I blink, trying to process what she’s saying. The idea that I could be dependent on the drug—addicted to it—feels so foreign. I want to argue, to say that I have control over it, that I can stop whenever I want. But can I?

“Addison, craving rest or wanting to escape doesn’t mean you’re consenting to what’s been happening,” Olivia continues, her tone growing more urgent. “You’re trying to cope, but Ethan is taking advantage of that. You’re not in a state to give meaningful consent when you’re under the influence of something that clouds your judgment, that leaves you too relaxed to say no or stop what’s happening.”

I shake my head, the defenses I’ve built around myself starting to crumble. “But I asked for it,” I whisper, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears. “I wanted it.”

I feel the walls closing in, the truth pressing down on me. For so long, I’ve convinced myself that this arrangement was my choice, that I was in control because I asked for the medication. But Olivia’s right—I wasn’t in control. Ethan was, and he agreed to this, because he knew he was. He knew that once the medication was given he could do whatever he pleased. I’ve been clinging to this medication, to the moments of peace it brings, like a lifeline. But now I realize it’s been more like a chain, keeping me bound to something far darker than I ever allowed myself to see. Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them back, trying to maintain my composure.

“I just wanted things to stop,” I murmur, my voice trembling. “I didn’t want to feel all the chaos, the constant pressure. It’s so hard to hold everything together.”

 “I know,” Olivia says softly. “But there are other ways to cope, healthier ways that don’t involve you losing yourself in the process. You deserve to have control over your own life, Addison, over your own body. No one should take that away from you, ever.”

Her words settle over me like a heavy blanket, both comforting and suffocating at the same time. I nod, though I don’t trust my voice to speak just yet. Deep down, I know she’s right. But breaking free of this, of everything that’s tied me to this life, feels like an impossible task.

But maybe… with her help, I can start to take the first steps. Maybe I can find a way to reclaim the control I’ve lost and rediscover who I really am—without the medication, without the numbness, and without Ethan’s hold over me. Olivia notices that I am shivering, and without thinking slips off her coat and gently drapes it over my shoulders. I glance up, frowning slightly at the gesture.

“Olivia. You don’t have to…”

“Shut up and let someone love you for once.” Olivia interrupts, her voice gentle but firm, pulling the coat more securely around me. My heart stutters at the word ‘love’ and I go completely still. We kissed, sure, but we were both drinking heavily. Maybe it’s just because Ethan has convinced me that I am unlovable, but I wasn’t expecting her to still feel the same way when we’re both sober. I look down at the warm coat wrapped around me, but the warmth running through me.

“Wait…” I whisper, eyes wide. “You’re completely sober. Did you just said ‘love’.”

“Yeah.” She says quietly, but no regret in her tone. “I guess I did.”

“Why would you…” I swallow hard, trying to wrap my head around what this could truly mean. “Why would you say that, now?”

“Because you’re worthy of love, Addison.”

“We can’t do this…” I whisper, unable to suppress the feeling of wanting to run, to flee, not because she’s wrong, but because I feel the same way. This is going to make worse what’s all ready pretty bad, especially if I cannot leave. The heartache it will bring us both…

“I thought you…”

“I know.  I do.” I reassure her.

“I’m sorry I said that…I wasn’t thinking. We need to get you to the hospital, you can get checked out, and…” She trails off.

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I try and explain. I smell her sweet perfume on her warm jacket wrapped around me. I don’t know how to process this thing that we’ve been both been feeling for so long, said aloud when we’re sober. “I  just…I’m broken.” I admit. “I don’t know how to let someone love me, to feel safe with someone. It hurts too much.”

“I know…I’m not here to hurt you, Addison. I’m here because you’re my best friend, and I love you. I want you to feel safe, and to be happy. You didn’t tell me things were getting worse and then you’ve been pulling away since the night we kissed....and I know this isn’t about that, but I just want you to feel safe.”

“I do feel safe…” I say quietly. “If I didn’t I wouldn’t have called you. I tried to keep how bad things have gotten from you, because I didn’t need a detective. I needed a friend, and now…isn’t this just…it’s a fantasy right?” I whisper. “Something nice to think about, to get  you through the day but it won’t happen, because it’s not real? I’m never going to wake up to a life where I am actually  safe, next to someone I love. That isn’t my life.”

“I should have done more. Pushed you harder when I saw the first signs of bruises at the coffee shop all that time ago, but I just…I want you to know that you’re not alone. I’m here for you, and I know I’ve been hard on  you tonight, but I’m not trying to control you. I just…I want better for you. Whatever you decide you want, doesn’t have to be a fantasy. You can have it.  You deserve happiness and peace. I should’ve…”

“Should’ve what?” I ask, cutting her off, voice shaky. “If you knew how screwed up my marriage was before we became friends would we still have had a chance?” I gesture between us, hands trembling. “Would you have seen me the same way, as an equal or would I just be another victim for you to save, another case?”

“Addison…”

“I didn’t want to be your burden, Olivia.” I whisper. “Or your charity case.” Olivia looks hurt when I say this. She tries to move closer to me, but I shake my head, holding up my hand. “I need something, someone, that isn’t tied to the mess my life has become.”

"Addison…" Olivia’s voice is soft, almost pleading. "You are not a burden, and you definitely are not a charity case.” My throat tightens when she says this. “I’m not here out of pity or obligation.” Olivia continues, “I’m here because I want to be. You’re not something I have to fix or take care of. You’re someone I want and choose to spend time with.”

I let out a laugh, though it’s more of a sob. My shoulders shake as I run a hand through my hair that had fallen in my face. “I am though. Look at everything I’ve dragged you into. You’re here, cleaning up the mess that is my life, and I can’t even…I can’t leave. I should have hid things better. I should have never told you how bad it is. If I go to the hospital it makes this real, it means that things are going to change.”

“Sometimes change is good.”

“What if…what if it’s too much? What if I’m too much? You’ve already got so much on your plate, your job, your son. You shouldn’t have to carry all of this too.”

“I want to carry it.” Olivia interrupts, her tone so certain. “You’re not asking me to do anything I wouldn’t already be doing. I’m choosing to. It doesn’t matter if we end up dating or not it’s never been about that for me. You are my best friend. You are worth fighting for. The children are worth fighting for. I’d do anything to make sure that you’re safe, that they’re safe. This is what I want. You need somebody to choose you. To make you their first choice.”

“I want that too.” I say softly, not sure how this conversation went from me telling her what happened to the walls that I’ve built up over the years…the walls to keep people out, to protect myself beginning to crack. “I don’t know how to let people in.” I admit, ashamed.

“We’re friends, that’s all that matters right now.” Olivia murmurs. Her thumb brushing a tear away from my cheek. “What matters is that you’re not alone.”

“I just want to feel safe.” I murmur. I sigh, the weight of my words too heavy. I lean back against the cool wall, I’m suddenly so tired. “I wish it was that simple.” I look down at the ground. “I wish I could just date you, that I were allowed to love you. I never feel this way when I’m with you. You make me feel safe.” Olivia’s lips curl into a smile when I say this, despite the somber mood of the evening.

“Is that your way of asking me out?” She asks, her tone teasing, though there is sincerity beneath the playfulness. “You’re allowed to love anyone you want to as long as we are both of legal age to give consent.” She reminds me, and I actually laugh softly at this.

“You’d say yes, wouldn’t you?” I ask her. I look up at her and I can see the conflict in her eyes because she knows how different things could be – how different we could be. “If things were different. If I wasn’t so screwed up after all of this you’d say yes?”

“Of course I would. I’d say yes in a heartbeat.” There is a flicker of something deeper behind her words, something we’ve both been holding back for far too long. “You know I would.”

We both know the reality of the situation though. As much as we may want it, as much as we may feel, in this moment we need each other, there is a huge, undeniable obstacle standing in the way. Ethan. The trauma I have endured. The life I’ve been trapped in. It’s not as simple as wanting something to happen and it never can be, not now

“It will take time.” I finally say.

“Yes.” Olivia agrees. “The transition from an abusive relationship to something healthy, something safe, is going to take time and patience. It’s not something that will happen overnight. You don’t have to figure it all out right now.” Olivia says softly. “You’ll get there in  your own time, at your own pace.” She pauses, her voice growing softer, more serious. “But if you’re asking me if I’d want you, if I’d want us, the answer is yes. Every time.”

“We should go.” I say softly. “We’ve been sitting here nearly an hour.” I say, looking at my phone for the time, praying that Ethen isn’t watching me on Find My.

“Yeah.” Olivia says. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

I nod in agreement and stand up, though I don’t feel ready at all. I slow my pace, deliberately walking behind her, my mind races before I make an impulsive, unnational decision. I purposefully step on a crack in the sidewalk. My heel snaps, and I let myself fall, but something unexpected happens. Olivia catches me, but not before my ankle makes a sickening crack. I instantly know that I’ve messed up as pain shoots up my leg and I can feel my ankle starting to swell. That’s not what I intended to do. I wince, the pain real, but purposeful.

“What the fuck was that?” Olivia asks, voice trembling. The mood shifts dramatically. She tries to help me to my feet, but we quickly realize I cannot bear weight on my foot.

“What do you mean?” I ask her. “I tripped, the heel of my shoe got caught in the crack and broke.” I know my tone is far too calm for the situation. I try to look more upset.

“You broke your ankle.” Olivia stammers. “Intentionally broke your ankle!”

“Stop yelling at me!” I exclaim, unable to stop the tears that come from the pain. “It’s not broken, I think it’s just dislocated.”

“I’m not yelling!” Olivia shouts, she looks scared of me.

“What would you call it then?”

“What do you want me to call it, Addison? I just watched you hurt yourself, and now you’re pretending like this is nothing?”

“It doesn’t hurt.” I say, breathing in a very measured way. We both know I’m lying. “I told you, it’s just a mild dislocation from my high heel breaking. Everything I do is for a reason.”

“A reason? You hurt yourself on purpose. Addison, how is this okay? How are you acting like this is normal? What reason could you possibly have for injuring yourself in a way you’re not able to walk properly?” My heart races, the guilt, the instant consequences of what I’ve done overwhelming me. “Addison, I’m trying to help you, but I can’t if you’re sabotaging yourself.”

“I don’t need your judgement Olivia. I’m doing the best that I can. We needed an excuse.” I whisper, almost defensively. “To be at the hospital, for the tests and reports it will take hours. If I have an injury it won’t look so suspicious.”

“You think that’s a good reason to hurt yourself? You’re already dealing with enough, why would you do this to yourself? How are you going to leave with a broken ankle?” She demands. “You broke your ankle in front of me and expect me to just be okay with this? To saying nothing? To stand by and pretend that this is fine. Have you no shame? You did that right in front of me.” 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“You’ll have a hell of a time proving it. I tripped. The security cameras saw me trip.” I say, gesturing to the camera from the building across the way pointing in this direction. “Why would I ruin a pair of $3000 shoes on purpose? Do you even know me?”

“Addison, you’re scaring me.” She says, a mixture of disbelief and dread in her expression. “I saw you. I saw you trip, on purpose.”

“You saw me trip.” I correct her sharply. “You don’t get it, Olivia. You don’t know what it’s like to live with someone like Ethan- to always have to be three steps ahead, to cover every angle. If he found out about this impromptu hospital trip, if he suspected anything…this is the only way to make sure I don’t raise any alarms. I hurt my ankle, you drove me to the hospital.”

“But your ankle…I heard it snap. It has to be more than just a dislocation.”

“No.” I insist. “I’m sure, it’s just dislocated.” I say, trying to soothe her. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine, Addison!” Olivia bursts out, her frustration breaking through. “This is absolutely…well it’s insane.” Her words are filled with desperation now. “This isn’t the kind of thing you fake just to have an excuse. You just seriously hurt yourself.  This is not survival, this is playing by his rules, and it’s not okay.”

“I didn’t fake anything.” I say feigning innocence. “Look at my ankle, it’s clearly injured. I’m doing what I have to do. You don’t understand, and that’s okay, but every move I make is calculated. I am surviving, I have survived, and so have my children.”

“You’re destroying yourself!” Olivia’s voice is desperate, her words tumbling out in disbelief. “You’ve been so focused on surviving him that you’re willing to hurt yourself just to avoid suspicion? This isn’t survival, Addison. This is... this is self-destruction.”

“I’m fine,” I snaps, voice rising. Olivia’s face goes pale, as if she has come to a realization and her hands clinch into fists at her sides.

“How many of your other injuries are like this one?” She asks quietly, her voice low but sharp. “How many of them are…self induced?”

“How dare you? How dare you even think something like that?” I spit out, stepping forward despite my limp. “You think I would lie about Ethan hurting me? That I would make up abuse? About the children? No. You should know me better than that, Olivia.” Olivia isn’t done though. She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do the games even exist? Do you truly have a panic room set up for the kids, Addison? Or is this some sad story you’re spinning to make me feel sorry for you? To get me to sign the paperwork for the weapon?” She asks, and I freeze, for a moment I am too stunned to respond. My eyes widen in disbelief before narrowing in anger.

“You think I would make-up a panic room? That I would lie about something concerning my children and their safety?” I attempt to shut this down before she can say anything more. “I would never lie about my children.” I whisper, voice cold. “Not to you, not to anyone.” I take a shaky breath, tone numb. “If that’s what you think I don’t know what else to say.”

 “Addison... I didn’t mean—”

 “No. You did mean it. You think I’m just spinning some story to manipulate you, right? That I bruised myself, that I made all this up. You don’t believe me anymore, and that’s fine.” My voice breaks when I say this. “Forget everything that was said because clearly you’re the one that is lying. I don’t need your pity, and I sure as hell don’t need your help if that’s what you think of me.”

“Addison, I—”

“I’m done,” I say, my voice icy, final. “Take me to the hospital, get the report done. But don’t talk to me about this anymore. Not if you’re going to doubt every word that comes out of my mouth. It’s not okay for me, or for you, Olivia.” Olivia looks like she wants to take it all back, but the damage is done. Olivia backs up, startled by the intensity in my voice, but doubt lingering in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you’re lying. I’m just trying to understand.” She says softly. “You broke your ankle right in front of me, and it’s making me question everything.”

“I’m not lying. I would never lie about abuse. What I just did---accidentally---that was survival, Olivia. It’s not the same as the things he’s done to me. Don’t you dare confuse the two. You’d think with your level of training you’d how to spot the difference.” Olivia’s frustration turns into helplessness, her voice faltering as she realizes the mess they’re in.

“Addison, you’re scaring me,” she whispers, her eyes searching my face for any sign of the woman she once knew. I don’t know how to give her that, not now. Not when everything around me is falling a part. “This is... this is so messed up.”

“I don’t know how to help you. I can’t force you to want better.”

“You help me by believing me.” I feel my stomach twist. This whole piece of the conversation, Olivia’s tone, going from supportive to accusatory. Just moments ago I had felt a sense of comfort and safety in Olivia’s presence and now I’m not sure anymore.

“How did we get here?” I whisper, blinking back the angry tears in my eyes. We were talking- and now Olivia is looking at like I’m someone she doesn’t know, like I’ve lied. I know that I’m complicated, and this situation is a whole mess, but I never expected this reaction from Olivia of all people. “I can’t believe this.” I say after a moment, looking down at my swollen ankle and then back up at Olivia. “How did we go from you being a supportive detective and friend to this?”

“There’s no way it had anything to do with you breaking your foot in front of me, intentionally. Not saying something would have been me being a terrible friend.”

“You don’t understand---please don’t tell Eth…”

“No, Addison.” Olivia says, her frustration softer now. “I do understand. I know exactly what you’re doing and I’m worried because this isn’t how you should be handling things. You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone…”She says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Would you talk to any other victim like this?” I ask her. Her words sting and my breath catches in my throat. I feel a slight pang of betrayal, knowing with her having to tell me that she wouldn’t speak to other victims this way. Olivia, the protector, the fixer, would never accuse a stranger, a woman who was beaten down and scared of hurting herself or lying about her abuse. The difference is I’m not just a friend, or just another victim in Olivia’s eyes. I’m not a stranger, and she knows me. “You’re treating me like this because I dislocated my ankle in front  of you?” I ask her for clarification, wiping the tears threatening to spill over. “I know you, you wouldn’t talk to anyone else this way.” It’s the truth. Olivia is kind, empathetic, and fiercely protective of victims, but with me everything feels more personal. It’s like she’s not seeing me as a victim at all, she’s seeing me as her friend who’s making bad choices. Olivia exhales, running a hand through her hair, visibly trying to calm herself.

"Addison, I’m sorry. I know I’m being hard on you, but it’s because I care. You’re not just a case or a victim to me. You’re my friend, and seeing you do this—seeing you hurt yourself like this—staying in your marriage, and now your ankle, it scares me."

"I’m not trying to lie to you, or hurt myself. It’s just…" I trails off, my emotions tangled in the overwhelming confusion I’m feeling. "I had to do something, Olivia. I needed an excuse, something that would make sense. I didn’t want to raise any suspicions with Ethen. You don’t know what it’s like—"

"I do know what it’s like!" Olivia snaps, her frustration spilling out before she can stop herself. "I know exactly what it’s like to live in fear, to feel like you’re constantly trapped, needing to outsmart someone just to stay safe. But this?" She gestures toward my ankle. "This is not the answer. What if it’s broken?”

"I wasn’t trying to manipulate you, Olivia." My voice is shaking now, tears spilling over. "I just needed… I needed a way out. And you—of all people—should understand that." Olivia pauses, taking a step back away from me, her expression softening just a little as she sees the pain in my eyes. I pray that she knows I am not trying to manipulate her, the way she had originally thought. I’m not trying to lie, I’m trying to survive, it’s the only way that I know how.

“Addison. I do understand, and I am truly sorry that I was so harsh on you.” Olivia says, her voice softer now, but still firm. “I just…I see you falling into these patterns, patterns that aren’t healthy, that are breaking you. I can’t stand by and watch  you hurt yourself like this, or watch him hurting you. Do you want to stay in this marriage? I know you’re afraid, but Addison you shouldn’t be afraid of what’s going to happen if you leave. You need to be afraid of what’ll happen if you stay.” I look down, ashamed when she says this.

“I want to leave.” I say softly. “I just…I’m trapped, Olivia. This is my life now. Part of me thinks I should just be accepting and appreciative for all that has come from this life, even if I don’t recognize myself anymore. Olivia steps closer again, her hands gently gripping my shoulders as she forces me to meet her eyes.

“You’re not trapped, not anymore. We’re going to go to hospital and get documentation. We’re going to get you a restraining order and you are going to go to court. Just…let’s take the first step for now…” She says, carefully helping me into the front seat her squad car, careful of my ankle as she shuts the door and then goes around and gets inside. “Promise me you won’t hurt yourself anymore. Please Addison. No more ‘accidents’.”

“Okay.” I murmur, the pain getting the best of me, and I am starting to think that Olivia is right, and it really is more than just a simple dislocation. “Okay, let’s go. I’ll tell the truth, do the testing and the reports and we can go from there.”

Chapter 4: You Matter To Me- Chapter 3

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ADDISON’S POINT OF VIEW

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Olivia opens the door to her squad car and gently guides me in, helping me to sit, and taking extra care to support my injured ankle. Her touch is firm, but cautious, as though she’s handling something she truly cares about, something fragile. I wince slightly as the motion sends a dull throb radiating up my leg. The swelling is getting worse. Once I’m settled, Olivia leans against the open car door, her brow furrowed in a way that makes it clear she’s already calculating the logistics of what comes next.

“I’m going to have to carry you into the hospital,” she says decisively, crossing her arms. “There’s no way you’re walking on that ankle, and I’m not letting you risk picking up germs from the hospital floor either. “I glance up at her, amused despite the pain.

“Very knight-in-shining-armor of you,” I tease, my tone light, though it’s clear I appreciate her concern. The thought of her carrying me is just funny to me. I probably weigh as much as she does, and I am two inches taller than she is. Olivia smirks, one eyebrow arching.

“I prefer ‘princess-in-a-sensible-pantsuit,’ but I’ll take it.” I laugh softly, the sound a welcome distraction from the discomfort.

“And what if I remind you that I’m not exactly the damsel-in-distress type?”

 “Then I’d tell you to save the feminist speech for when you’re not hobbling around like Bambi on ice. For now, I’m calling the shots. “I shake my head, rolling my eyes.

“You know, there are wheelchairs outside the emergency room entrance. No dramatic rescue required. “Olivia straightens up, her expression playful but determined.

 “Oh, there will be a rescue. Wheelchair or not, you’re getting the VIP treatment. Now buckle up…you created a Cragen worthy emergency, let’s go get you checked out.” We fall into silence, she’s gripping the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles pale against the leather.

“Olivia…can we just…” I request, wanting to talk to her, not wanting to turn the radio on. She motions for me to wait a moment and calls in to let her squad know what’s happening, and that she will be at the hospital. When she hangs up the phone she addresses me again.

“When we get to the hospital, I want you to get a rape kit done.” Olivia asks, voice steady but soft. I stiffen, staring out the window, the words sinking in like stones. 

“I can’t. He has access to my medical records.”

“You’re registering as Jane Doe. The rape kit won’t go on your medical records.” She reminds me. “We’ll get your ankle looked at,” she continues, keeping her gaze on the road. “And while we’re there, you can have evidence gathered.” I shake my head, closing my eyes against the flood of emotions rising in my chest.

“I told you, it wasn’t…” 

“It was,” Olivia interrupts gently but firmly. “I know you don’t want to call it that, but it was. And you might need this evidence later on, even if you don’t want to think about it right now.” I bite down on my lip, willing the tears away.

“I don’t want to do it,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. 

“You agreed to get checked out,” Olivia reminds me, her tone still calm but insistent. 

“For my ankle,” I snap, the frustration breaking through. “I agreed to get my ankle checked. You can’t force me to do anything else, Olivia.” 

"You literally broke your ankle to get a few moments of peace tonight," Olivia says softly, her voice carrying both disbelief and something else—pity, maybe. "Do you not see how big of a problem that is? If you’re hurting yourself to escape a situation where someone else is hurting you... Addison, that’s not just a problem. It’s a crisis."  I cross my arms over my chest, willing my face to stay neutral, even as her words hit a little too close.

"It’s only a problem if you make it one," I say, my voice coming out colder than I intended. “We’re okay, Olivia. This isn’t one of your cases.”  

"I do make it a problem. I absolutely do." Olivia’s words are sharp now, but her eyes—God, her eyes look like she’s ready to cry for me, and I hate it. "You’re bruised. Your children have seen you bruised. God knows what they see and hear in that house. And these… these games you’re playing, the things you’re teaching them to do to cope—they're not okay, Addison. None of this is okay."  I feel my stomach twist, but I hold my ground.

"The kids are safe Olivia," I say firmly, daring her to challenge me. "Whatever’s going on with me, I make sure they’re protected. That’s all that matters. I have taken measures to keep them safe from what going on around them."  Her voice rises slightly, her words cutting through the space between us.

 "How long, Addison? How long are they safe if you die? If you’re not there to protect them anymore?" My breath catches for half a second, but I force myself to keep my expression steady.

"I’m not going anywhere," I say, my voice steady, resolute. 

"How many more lives do you have Addison?”  she shoots back, her frustration spilling out. "This isn’t sustainable. You’re putting everything on the line—your body, health, your life. How much longer can you keep this up before you lose it all? What happens to your girls then?" I glare at her, refusing to let her words get under my skin.

"I’ll do whatever it takes. The girls come first. Always." 

"Everything but leave. What is it going to take?" she whispers, and this time, her voice cracks. She looks at me like she’s trying to understand, to make me see what I already know deep down but can’t admit.  I look away, my resolve hardening.

"It doesn’t matter," I say, more to myself than to her. "They’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it." 

“I don’t want to do the rape kit, I’m not doing it.” I say firmly, my voice steadier than I feel inside. I grip the edge of my seat, staring out the window at the blur of streetlights. "Getting a rape kit done isn’t going to solve anything, Olivia. If anything, it’ll make everything worse in the long run."  Olivia doesn’t say anything at first, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel. The silence between us feels sharp, pressing down on my chest, but I refuse to look at her. 

"How would it make things worse?" she finally asks, her tone measured but laced with frustration. "Addison, I’m asking because I don’t understand. What’s worse than this?" I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head.

"What’s worse? You mean besides going through something humiliating and invasive while everyone keeps telling me it’s for my own good? Besides creating evidence that’ll only get dragged out if he decides to fight back—if he decides to punish me for speaking up?" My voice breaks slightly, and I force myself to take a breath, steadying it. "I can’t, Olivia. I can’t deal with that. It puts me, and my children in more danger.”  

"But if you don’t—" 

"Then what?" I snap, cutting her off. I finally look at her, and the pain in her eyes almost makes me turn away. Almost. "Then what? I live with it? Pretend it didn’t happen? I’m already doing that. A rape kit isn’t going to change anything. It’s not going to fix me, Olivia."  She presses her lips together, like she’s trying to hold back whatever she really wants to say. For a moment, all I hear is the hum of the engine and the faint sound of traffic outside.

“You’re right, Addison.” She says finally, her voice softer now. She loosens her grip on the wheel, her fingers relaxing one by one. "I can’t force you, and I won’t. This isn’t something I can decide for you. But, Addison..." She glances at me briefly, her eyes searching mine before turning back to the road. "I want you to think about it. Really think about it. This isn’t for me or anyone else. It’s for you. If you don’t want to press charges or ever talk about it again, that’s okay. But having the evidence… it could give you options later, if you change your mind."  Her words hang in the air, and I hate how they make my stomach churn. I look out the window again, swallowing down the lump rising in my throat.

"I’m tired of thinking about it," I mutter, almost too quietly for her to hear.  “I’m tired of the reality of my life, Olivia.”

"I know," she says gently, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know you are." 

“Why are you pressing so hard for this?” I ask her, my voice sharper than intended. I stare at her profile as she keeps her eyes on the road. Her jaw is set, her shoulders tense, but her expression isn’t harsh. It’s open, vulnerable. There’s no judgement in her eyes when she glances at me…just concern. “I said no. Why can’t you just let it go?”

It feels different now, like Olivia is pressing me harder than she ever has before. I can’t shake the feeling that she’s pushing me into a corner, making me confront things I’m not ready to face. I’ve seen the concern in her eyes before, especially the first time she noticed the bruises, the day we met at the coffee shop. Back then, she didn’t push me; she just looked at me, quietly worried, and let me handle things in my own way. She spoke up, sure, but she didn’t try and force anything, not like this. I thought that was the way it would stay—her gentle understanding, always there when I needed her, but never forceful. I should have know I was wrong, that her profession would bleed over into my life.

But now? Now, it feels different. She’s not letting me get away with my silence. She says that he’s escalating. I can’t tell what it is, but there’s a shift in her, something sharper, more insistent. I can feel her worry, her care for me, but it’s layered with something else—an urgency, a quiet desperation. Is it because she knows the lengths I’ve gone to in order to protect myself, protect the kids? Did she suspect all along that I’ve been keeping things from her? I’ve kept my life so carefully controlled, my defenses so well-built, but Olivia is pressing against every wall I’ve put up. The medication I take, the shots I am given to keep my head clear, to keep myself “calm” during those encounters with Ethan—she didn’t know about that. The safe room I’ve set up for the kids, the one place I can keep them safe from everything, including the man who’s supposed to protect them—she didn’t know that, either. How could she? I’ve never let anyone see these things. I’ve hidden them in plain sight, buried them under the day-to-day tasks of keeping everything together.

Olivia’s asking me questions I’m not ready to answer. She’s demanding things of me, things I don’t know if I’m capable of. Her voice is still gentle, but the underlying intensity in her words is unmistakable. Is this what it takes to get through to me? Does she have to push this hard to get me to admit the truth? Part of me wants to push her away, to retreat into myself, to pull back the way I’ve always done. I could make an excuse, tell her it’s too much, that I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll back off. But I know that would only make things worse. Pretending everything is fine when it’s not is something I’ve done for too long, and I can’t do it anymore. I glance at Olivia, sitting beside me, and something in her expression softens for a moment, like she’s aware of the battle waging inside of me. It’s like she knows I’m holding something back, something crucial, and she’s just waiting for me to be ready to let it out. But I don’t know if I ever will be. I don’t know if I’m ready to face everything I’ve been hiding—everything I’ve been running from. This fierceness is something I never expected from her. But maybe that’s what I need. Maybe, deep down, I’ve known for a while now that I can’t keep protecting everyone else without first protecting myself. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what Olivia is trying to make me see. This isn’t okay. I’m broken.

"Because you’re being hurt, Addison," she says, her voice trembling slightly, though she fights to keep it steady. "Because this isn’t just something you can brush off or push down like it didn’t happen. You’re walking around with bruises, with pain that doesn’t just go away because you pretend it’s not there. You’re surviving, sure, but barely. And it’s killing me to watch."  I look down at my hands, my fingers twisting nervously in my lap.

"I’m fine," I mumble, my voice small and unconvincing even to myself. 

"No, you’re not." Her voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "You’re not fine, Addison. You’re holding it together with tape and glue, and it’s all going to fall apart eventually. And what then? What happens to you? What happens to the kids?"  I flinch at the mention of the kids, my throat tightening.

"The kids are fine," I snap, sitting up straighter. "I make sure of that. They don’t know—" 

"Don’t they?" she interrupts, her voice rising now, the anger bubbling to the surface. "Don’t they know? You think they don’t see the bruises? You think they don’t hear the fights or feel the tension in that house? You think they don’t notice when their mom is walking on eggshells or barely holding it together? You think they’re not afraid when the two of you are fighting and they have to hide in the safe room? " She shakes her head, her frustration spilling out in waves. "You’re not protecting them, Addison. You’re just teaching them to live in fear." 

"You don’t understand," I say, my voice trembling with restrained anger. "You don’t know what it’s like—what it would mean to push back, to try and fight this. You’re asking me to make everything worse." 

"How could it possibly be worse than this?" she demands "You’re breaking yourself to survive, Addison! You’re destroying yourself piece by piece, and for what? So no one knows? So you can keep pretending everything’s okay? This has been going on for years, it’s getting worse, not better. Eventually you will realized you have chanced enough that it’s time to get out.”

"I’m doing the best I can," I say through gritted teeth. "You don’t get to judge me for that." 

"I’m not judging you!" she says, her voice cracking with emotion. "I’m scared for you! I’m scared that one day I’m going to get a call saying you’re dead, Addison. And I’m terrified that I won’t be able to stop it because you won’t let me help you."  Her words hang in the air, raw and heavy, and I feel something inside me fracture. I turn my face toward the window, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. 

"Just let it go," I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Olivia, please.”

“I can’t.” She says, her voice quieter now, but no less intense. “I care about you too much to stand by and watch you destroy yourself. Even if you hate me for it, Addison. I won’t stop trying. I have stood by for too long, been supportive, followed your lead, but this isn’t okay.”

“Let me out.” I request, voice trembling as I begin to panic.

“No,” Olivia says sharply, her tone brooking no argument. She keeps her eyes on the road “Addison, we’re going to the hospital. You’re going to get checked out, and that’s final.” 

“Olivia, please,” I plead, my voice breaking. The walls of the car feel like they’re closing in on me. “Just stop. Let me out.” 

“And if I do?” she snaps, her voice steady but edged with frustration. “How are you going to get anywhere? Your foot is broken, Addison. You’re not going anywhere on your own, and you know it.” She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her next words come out raw and filled with emotion. “Do you even realize how scared I am right now? I see cases like this all the time, Addison. Every damn day, I see women who’ve been hurt like this—women who don’t make it out. And when that happens, do you know who’s left to pick up the pieces? The kids. Your girls. If anything happens to you those girls—they’ll be left with Ethan. Alone. Without you to protect them. Is that what you want?” 

“I’m not dying,” I say firmly, trying to sound more confident than I feel. I shake my head, avoiding her piercing gaze. “I’m not dying, Olivia. I’ve made it this far. I know how to handle him. I know how to keep him from going too far. The girls are safe because I’m there. If I leave—if I do what you’re asking—everything will just get worse.” Olivia slams her hand against the steering wheel, her frustration spilling over.

“Worse than this? Addison, look at you! You’re sitting here with a broken foot because of him, and you’re telling me you know how to handle it? This is what handling it looks like? How much worse does it have to get before you realize you’re not in control? He is.”  Her words sting, but I force myself to stay defensive.

“I don’t have another choice!” My voice cracks. “If I push back, he’ll take it out on the girls. If I leave, he’ll find me, or he’ll find a way to hurt them. I’m doing what I have to do, Olivia. You can’t understand that. You don’t live this.” 

“You’re right,” she says, her voice trembling with anger now. “I don’t live it. But I see it, Addison. Every day, I see it. I see women like you who think they can manage, who think staying is the only way to keep their kids safe. And do you know where I see them? In hospital beds. Or the morgue. Or on the other side of the courtroom, crying when their spouse paints them as crazy and their kids are being handed over to the man who put them there.” 

 “It’s not like that,” I say quietly, but my voice lacks conviction. 

“Yes, it is,” she shoots back, her voice rising. “You’re surviving on a tightrope, Addison, and it’s only a matter of time before you fall. And when you do, Ethan’s the one left standing. And the girls? They’re the ones who’ll pay the price.” Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

“You don’t know him like I do,” I say through gritted teeth. “I know how to keep him calm, how to keep things under control. If I leave—if I try to fight—it’ll only make him angrier. It’ll make everything worse for everyone.”  Olivia exhales sharply, shaking her head.

“Addison, listen to yourself. You’re rationalizing his abuse, making it your responsibility to control his actions. But you can’t control him, no matter how much you try. And every time you think you can, you’re putting yourself—and those girls—in even more danger.”  She glances at me, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and pleading. “You’re not just risking your own life, Addison. You’re risking theirs, too. You’re the one thing standing between them and him, and if you’re gone—if you don’t make it out one day—what happens to them then? I’m not trying to hurt you,” Olivia says quietly, her voice softer now but still resolute. “I’m trying to save you. And them. But I can’t do it alone. You have to want to save yourself, too.”  I close my eyes, willing myself to stay calm, to keep the panic from overwhelming me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper, though even I don’t believe the certainty in my voice.  Olivia’s hands loosen slightly on the wheel, and she exhales shakily.

“I hope to God you’re right,” she says, her voice breaking. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I murmur, my voice cracking The fear of what’s ahead, the fear of what it means to face the truth, the fear of what will happen to me—and to them—if I don’t make the right choice. Olivia’s eyes remain on the road, her expression hardening with determination, but there’s a softness in her voice when she speaks.

“I know you can do it. You will do it. Because it’s the right thing to do, Addison. And you know that. It’s not even worth arguing about anymore. I know you’re going to make the right choice.”  I turn my head to look at her, the knot in my throat tightening.

“I don’t feel like I can,” I whisper, almost to myself. “It feels like everything I do makes it worse. Like no matter how I handle it, I’m still hurting them—still hurting myself.”  Olivia’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t look away from the road.

“You can, Addison. You have to. Because you don’t deserve this. None of you do.”  I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the pain in my foot reminding me of the bruises and fractures I’ve been trying to ignore.

“I just... I just don’t want to make a choice I can’t take back,” I murmur, voice strained. 

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Olivia says gently, her voice softening even more as she reaches over and places a hand on mine. It’s a rare, unspoken reassurance from someone who’s seen so many cases like this. “But when we get to the hospital, they’ll ask. And when they do, I want you to make the decision for you—not for me, not because you feel pressured or like I’m forcing you into something, but because it’s *your* choice. It’s what you want, Addison.” 

 “That’s your coded way of saying ‘I want you to make the choice I told you to make,’ isn’t it?” I say, half a laugh, half a sob escaping me.  Olivia’s expression falters, and she exhales deeply.

“No,” she says quietly, her tone sharp but full of care. “I want you to make the choice that’s right for you. And maybe, just maybe, that means not continuing to live like this. Not pretending it’s okay when it’s not. I’ve seen it too many times, Addison. I’ve seen women stay in situations like this and I’ve seen them not survive it. And that’s not just about you—it’s about the girls. They deserve a chance at something better. You deserve a chance at something better.”  I feel my eyes water, but I won’t let the tears fall. I know what she’s saying, but it feels too big, too final.

 “I don’t know how to make that choice,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough. If I fight him, I’ll lose everything. If I leave... if I leave him—”

“If you leave him, you will be giving yourself and your girls the chance at freedom. At safety, but you can’t keep fighting a battle that’s already hurting you. You’re bleeding out, Addison. You can’t keep holding your breath, hoping one day it’ll get better. I can’t tell you what’s best for you, Addison but I can tell you that you deserve to be free of this.” Her words are a slow burn, igniting something deep inside me, but I’m still hesitant, afraid to believe them.

“I don’t know if I can trust that,” I say softly, my voice barely audible. “What if I make the wrong choice.” 

“You’re not making the wrong choice,” Olivia says with quiet conviction. “Not if you choose what’s right for you. Not if you stop letting him control you and your decisions. You’re stronger than you think, Addison. You’ve already survived so much.” 

I swallow hard, my gaze flickering between her and the road ahead. I feel trapped, caught between the fear of losing everything and the fear of staying in a situation that’s eating me alive.

“I don’t know if I can let go,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know if I’m ready to face all of this. What if I fail?” 

“You won’t fail,” Olivia says firmly, her voice almost a promise. “Not if you make the choice that’s right for you. You have to believe that.” 

The silence that follows is deafening. I stare out the window, trying to find the strength to believe in her words. Maybe she’s right. Maybe, deep down, I already know what I need to do. But I’m scared. Scared of the unknown. Scared of what happens next.  She knows I’m going to say yes, she knows I am going to do exactly what she told me too. But Olivia’s right. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay. I can’t keep ignoring the truth.  This is the right thing to do. I should be doing more than I am. I have to get out.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, my voice finally steady. “But I can’t promise anything.”  Olivia nods, her grip on the wheel tightening once more, but she’s not angry. She’s not pushing anymore.

“I know,” she says softly. “You don’t have to promise anything. But when the time comes, I want you to make the decision that’s best for you. Whatever that is.” 

And I realize, for the first time in a long time, that maybe—just maybe—I’m ready to start thinking about what’s best for me.  She scares me, not in a dangerous way like Ethan, but in a revolutionary way. Thing could be different. They don’t have to be this bad. I swallow hard, the weight of her words settling over me. The car falls silent again, but this time, it feels less suffocating, as though she’s given me room to breathe. 

“I need you to promise me something,” I say, my voice strained as I try to steady myself.

"Anything," she replies, her tone open, as if she’s ready for whatever comes next.

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to ask,” I murmur, trying to force the words past the lump in my throat. Olivia glances over at me briefly, her brow furrowing slightly, but she doesn’t speak. She’s waiting. I know she is, and I hate that I can’t say it all at once, that I have to draw it out like this. But I can’t. The words are too big, too suffocating.

“Do you want me to ask? You already know. I’d do anything for you.”

“I need you to take me to get an abortion if it comes to that,” I say finally, my voice flat, almost hollow. The words feel foreign on my tongue, and I stare out the window as I speak, unable to face Olivia’s eyes. My hands are trembling in my lap, my fingers twisting together with anxiety. "I took the morning-after pill, Olivia," I continue, my tone distant, as if I'm reciting someone else’s story. "But if I’m ovulating, it’s less effective. If I end up pregnant, I… I’m going to—they make you have someone with you." 

"Stop," Olivia interrupts, her voice sharp and commanding, cutting off the thought before it fully forms. The silence between us feels deafening, and my chest tightens with a mixture of fear and something else—something I can’t quite identify. “I’ll do it, please just stop.” She says, and I can tell she’s afraid. What did she think I was going to say? Can she hear the depression in my tone? I turn to her, frustration bubbling up, my breath quickening.

"You think I’m being irresponsible?" The words come out harder than I intend, and even to me, they sound accusatory. But I can’t stop them. The fear and the hurt just spill out, raw and ugly. "I’m doing everything I can. Everything. I just had Arabella. She’s still brand new, Olivia—not even two months old. I didn’t want this risk. I didn’t ask for this." Olivia glances at me, her expression calm but unwavering. She doesn't flinch or back down.

"When did I say that?" she asks, her voice steady, almost too even, like she’s trying to keep her own emotions in check.

"You didn’t have to," I shoot back quickly, my voice rising in the small space of the car. The words spill out before I can stop them, sharp and desperate. "I won’t survive another pregnancy right now. I can’t. Not with him being the father. I just... I can’t." The final words hit me like a slap, the full weight of what I’m saying crashing into me all at once.

Olivia doesn’t react the way I expect. She doesn’t get angry, doesn’t raise her voice. She simply exhales, her jaw tightening just a little as she tries to process my words. She’s never been afraid to speak her mind, but right now, I see something in her eyes I haven’t seen as often before—something softer, more vulnerable.

"Addison," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, but there’s a quiet strength to it that makes me stop and listen. “If you are pregnant, we’ll handle it. However you want to. But we don’t have to worry about that right now. It only just happened, and your physical health has to come first—your ankle, the rape kit, all of it.”  I can hear the underlying frustration in her voice, the way she wants to take all of this from me, to make it better. But I can’t let her. I can’t let anyone take it away, because this is mine to carry.  Olivia’s gaze softens, though her jaw is still tight. She presses on, her voice calm but unwavering.

“I’ll take you, if that’s what you need. You know I will. But we’re not there yet. Right now, you’re okay.”  I don’t know how to respond to that. I don’t know if I believe her. I don’t feel okay, and I don’t think I ever will again. I want to believe her—I want to believe that somehow this will all resolve itself, but it’s hard to see that right now. My entire world feels like it’s falling apart, and I don’t know how to put the pieces back together.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of the admission. The words feel foreign, almost like they don’t belong to me, but they’re true. Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away furiously, unwilling to let them fall. “Staying is bad, Olivia, but leaving… leaving will make everything worse. It always does. Leaving with Emilia made things worse the last time.” Olivia’s eyes soften, her grip tightening just slightly on the steering wheel as if grounding herself.

“You were safe.” she counters gently. “In the apartment, you were both safe.”

“Until we weren’t,” I cut in sharply, the bitterness in my tone surprising even me. “Do you remember that? We weren’t safe for long.” She glances at me briefly, her brows drawing together in concern.

“You never told me what happened, just that Emilia missed her Daddy.” she says, her voice low but probing. It’s not an accusation, just a quiet invitation, an opening.

“No,” I confirm simply, turning my head to look out the window. The streetlights blur into streaks as we pass, and I focus on their rhythm, anything to avoid her gaze.

“Addison,” Olivia begins, her tone both curious and protective, “I want to understand. What happened? What made it worse?”

“It’s not important,” I say vaguely, my voice flat. My hand twists in my lap, restless, as I avoid the details she’s fishing for. “Just… things didn’t go as planned.” Olivia doesn’t let up.

 “What kind of things? Was it him? Did he find you?” Her voice tightens with a mix of worry and determination, her mind clearly running through worst-case scenarios. I shake my head slightly but still don’t meet her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter now. That was a long time ago.”

“It does  matter,” Olivia presses, her voice firm but not unkind. “Addison, we need to know what happened. If we don’t, how can we stop it from happening again? How can I help you if I don’t understand? It wasn’t even that long ago. You were pregnant with Arabella when you left, and she’s only almost two months now.” I finally meet her gaze, her concern mirrored in her deep brown eyes.

“It’s not important right now,” I insist, though my voice wavers slightly. “What’s important is what’s happening now, and right now, I’m not leaving.” Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think she might argue. But instead, she exhales deeply as if she’s forcing herself to stay calm.

“I just want you to be safe,” she says quietly. “And I want your kids to be safe. That’s all I care about.” I nod but don’t say anything. What’s left to say? I know she means well, but her version of safety feels like a distant fantasy—one I can’t afford to believe in right now.

“I know you want me to leave. I know I need to leave, Olivia. I’m not stupid, I just…” My voice falters, and I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

“You just think he’ll change,” Olivia says quietly, finishing the thought for me. Her tone is soft but carries an edge of sadness, as though she’s seen this too many times before. “You think that if you love him enough, if you stay strong enough, it’ll be enough to fix him. That love will be enough to stop the hurting. But Addison—it isn’t. Love isn’t enough when you’re being hurt. It’s not enough when you’re in danger, when your children are at risk. It’s not enough, and it shouldn’t have to be.” I close my eyes, her words hitting me like a physical blow.

“I can’t handle this right now,” I murmur, my hands gripping the edge of the seat as I try to steady myself. “He wants another baby, Olivia. He wants a son. This isn’t going to get better—this cycle, this… nightmare, it’s never going to stop. Even if I’m not pregnant this time… I will be eventually.”

“Addison,” Olivia says, her tone firm yet layered with compassion, “what he’s doing to you is wrong. You know that, don’t you? You don’t have to stay. You can leave, and I’ll help you. I’ll help you with everything—with your children, with your safety. You don’t have to go through this alone, and you don’t have to keep enduring this.” She exhales, her voice trembling slightly now, though her resolve is steady. “What he’s doing to you—medicating you to control you, forcing these things on you—it’s not just wrong; it’s abuse. And you don’t owe him anything, Addison. Not your body, not your compliance, not your silence.” I glance at her, feeling raw and exposed under her unyielding gaze.

“You keep saying that, but you’re not living it, Olivia.”

“If this were one of your patients, Addison,” she presses, leaning forward slightly, “you wouldn’t hesitate. You’d tell her to get out. You’d tell her to fight for her safety, for her children. You’d tell her she deserves better. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, barely able to meet her eyes. “I would. But it’s not a patient, Olivia. It’s me. It’s my life. It’s different when its your actual life.” My voice is soft, but the words feel heavy, weighed down by fear and resignation.

“It doesn’t have to be your life,” she says, her tone more forceful now. There’s an urgency in her voice, a fire that she refuses to let go of. “You don’t have to accept this as your fate. You can choose something different, Addison. You deserve something different—for yourself, and for your children. But you have to make that choice. No one else can make it for you.”

Her words linger in the air, filling the silence between us. I turn my head, staring out the window at the blur of city lights, feeling her gaze on me. I know she’s right—part of me has always known. But knowing and acting are two very different things. Olivia reaches over, placing a hand on mine, her touch warm and grounding.

“You’re not alone, Addison,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. "You don’t have to do this by yourself. Whatever you decide, we’ll face it together. But we’re not there yet, okay? We’re not making decisions about something that’s not happening right now."  I nod, but my heart is still racing, my mind swirling with doubt and fear. I know she’s right. But that doesn’t make it any easier to live with.

“If I’m pregnant, I’ll leave him. I’ll leave him for good.” I say quietly, my words thick with dread. “He wants a son more than anything. He’ll make me keep the pregnancy, Olivia. If there’s a baby, it’s his baby.” My heart sinks as I speak, as if saying the words aloud somehow makes it all more real. I can already feel the weight of it, that suffocating pressure. She glances at me quickly, her eyes flashing with frustration. “Addison, you can’t put your entire life on whether you’re pregnant or not. You can’t let that be the deciding factor in everything. If you’re going to leave him, it should happen soon. Not when you’ve already put everything else on hold, not when your children are suffering because of it.” Her voice has an edge to it now, a sharpness I’m not used to hearing from her.

“You make it sound so easy,” I mutter under my breath. My fingers twist together in my lap, the tremor in my hands betraying the lie I’m trying to tell myself. “It’s not that simple.” Olivia exhales sharply, her frustration visible now, but there’s something else too—concern, maybe?

 “You didn’t leave when you were pregnant with Emilia. You didn’t leave with Arabella. You swore you were leaving then too.” Her voice softens, but the sting of her words cuts through me.

“I left when I was pregnant with Arabella,” I remind her, my voice barely above a whisper. I can feel the weight of that decision again, the helplessness that came with it, the fear of what would happen if I stayed. “I thought I could get out, Olivia. I thought I could just leave him behind. I stayed in the apartment, for half of the pregnancy. You’re making it sound like it was nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Addison, but you didn’t stay gone. You went back to him. You took your children back to him.” She’s disappointed in me, even if she’s trying to hide it. “You promised yourself and your children that you wouldn’t go back, and you did. I’m not blaming you, but it happened and we need to avoid whatever caused that to happen again.” I’m quiet for a moment, staring out the window, unable to look at her. The guilt in her words feels too big for me to process, too much to take in all at once.

“I had to,” I finally say, my voice weak, cracking under the weight of everything I’m feeling. “He’s their father, Olivia. I didn’t want to tear them away from him.”

“You can’t keep doing this, Addison. You can’t keep putting your life on hold for him, or for your kids, or for what you think they need.” Olivia’s voice is softer now, but the urgency is still there. “You can’t keep going back, every time you feel like you have to make it work. At some point, you have to choose yourself. You have to choose what’s best for you, for all of you, not just him. Growing up without a father is better than growing up with an abusive one.”

“I don’t know how to do that.” I whisper, my voice so soft. “I don’t know how to just walk away. It isn’t all bad, Olivia. There are good moments, really good moments. What if I’m wrong? If I’m overreacting? What if we leave and things really do escalate, and then they get hurt?”

“They’re being hurt either way.” Olivia says firmly. “They’re less at risk of being hurt if you leave, if you’re somewhere safe.” She says, reaching over and placing her hand over mind. Her touch grounds me. “You’re protecting them by having these hard conversations about not going back to him. You just have to make the choice to leave before it’s too late, before you lose yourself completely. Before you lose the chance to make things better for them. They’re still little, Addison. They’re innocent in this.” My heart aches, but somewhere deep down, I know she’s right. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to face it. To face the reality of walking away from everything I’ve known, everything I’ve fought for, even if it means choosing a future where I’m free, where my children can be free. Money isn’t the issue, safety is. Ethan’s reach is large.

“Maybe I am too afraid,” I admit quietly, my voice shaking with the truth. “Maybe I don’t know how to let go. Maybe I’m too afraid of what comes after.”

“Then let me help you,” Olivia says softly, her voice full of tenderness, but still unwavering. “I can’t do it for you, Addison. But I can stand by you while you make the hardest choice of your life. I’m here, no matter what.” I look over at her, and for the first time in so long, I feel the smallest flicker of hope. Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can stop being afraid. Maybe it’s time to stop letting fear control me.

“I’ll think about it,” I say quietly, feeling the weight of the decision still pressing on my chest, but I know I need time. “But I don’t know if I can do it. I’m not sure I can leave him.”

“Then take your time,” Olivia says, her grip on my hand tightening just slightly. “But don’t wait too long, Addison. You’re running out of time.” There’s something there. A shift. A feeling that maybe, just maybe, I can find the strength to do what needs to be done.

“I’m in danger, real danger.” I say, my voice shaking. The words feel like a confession, a raw truth I’m barely able to admit, even to myself. “If I leave, I’m in danger. The children are in danger.” The thought of walking away, of leaving him, scares me, haunts me to my core. What will he do if I take that step? What will he do to them? Olivia’s eyes meet mine, filled with understanding but also a quiet resolve.

“I know that. And I can keep you safe,” she says, her voice steady, as if she’s already made up her mind about how to handle it. But how can she promise me that? How can anyone promise safety when everything feels so uncertain?

“How?” I ask, my voice hoarse, the skepticism in my words too clear. My mind races with all the worst-case scenarios, all the terrible things that could happen. “How can you keep me safe?” My hands are trembling, my fingers gripping the seat beneath me, as if it will somehow ground me in reality. Olivia shifts in her seat, her posture straightening just a bit, her jaw tightening with the familiar sense of purpose she carries as an officer.

“I’m an officer, Addison,” she says softly, but there’s no mistaking the strength behind her words. She gestures to the car, her hand brushing over the service weapon holstered on her uniform. “I have resources. I have the support of my unit, the backing of the department. We’ll get you a safe place. We’ll get you and your children protection. I’ll make sure of it.” Her words carry the weight of her experience, the confidence of someone who’s seen the worst and knows how to handle it. But it’s not that simple. I shake my head, still unconvinced, my voice thick with emotion.

“You make it sound so easy,” I say, my eyes locking on hers. “You make it sound like we can just… leave, and everything will be okay. It’s not that simple, Olivia. Not for me. Not for them.” My heart is racing, the fear too much to bear. How could I just take that leap? How could I uproot my whole life, change everything, and trust that it will be okay? Olivia’s gaze softens, her expression shifting into something more compassionate. She exhales slowly, as if trying to center herself before responding.

“I know it’s not easy,” she says gently. “We both know that. I’m not pretending that you can just walk away and everything will be fine. But I’m telling you this: you don’t have to go through this alone. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself. I’m here for you. For whatever you need. Whenever you need it. I will help you, Addison. “I swallow hard, her words echoing in my mind. But the doubt is still there, like a weight pressing against my chest.

“What if I’m wrong?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. “What if I leave, and he comes after me? What if I make everything worse? I just… I don’t know what to do.” The fear of the unknown, of taking that first step, is overwhelming. It paralyzes me. Olivia squeezes my hand gently, her thumb brushing over my skin in a reassuring motion.

“If you stay, you’re still in danger, Addison. And the kids. If you stay, nothing changes. But if you leave, if you take that step, we can make sure you’re safe. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

I close my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to process everything she’s said. It’s hard to let go of the fear, to trust that it’s possible to leave without making everything worse. But somewhere, deep down, I know she’s right. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to take that step. To believe that help will be enough. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what will happen if I leave. I’m afraid of what he’ll do to me, to my children. I just…I don’t know what is the more dangerous option. They’re both dangerous, both bad especially with how the legal system in this country drags things on. If he were arrested he’d make bail in two seconds, so even that is no solace. Olivia’s grip on my hand tightens, a steady, grounding presence.

“I know you’re scared,” she says softly. “But you have a choice now, Addison. A chance to change things. You can choose to take that step, and I’ll be with you the whole way. I’ll be right there. And I won’t let you down. “I look at her, really look at her A small spark of possibility that maybe, just maybe, I can get out. I can take that step. And maybe I can protect my children, too.

“I’ll try,” I say, my voice quieter now, but more resolute. “I’ll try to believe that I can do this.” Olivia smiles, the warmth in her expression reaching her eyes.

“That’s all I’m asking. One step at a time. And we’ll get you through this.” As the car moves through the night, the darkness outside feels a little less suffocating, and I start to believe that maybe, just maybe, I can find a way out. A way to be safe. A way to start over tears spill over before I can stop them, and I’m not sure if it’s the emotional turmoil or the throbbing pain of my ankle that’s breaking me. 

“You don’t get it,” I argue, though my voice is quieter now, less insistent.  Olivia shakes her head, her gaze unwavering.

 “I think I do. I think you called me tonight because you wanted me to know the truth—about what happened, about what he did to you, about what he’s been doing to you. How bad things have gotten. You’re crying out for help, Addison.” My stomach twists, and I look away, shaking my head.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmur, my voice barely audible.

“Maybe not,” Olivia replies, her voice still soft but unrelenting. “But I think you wanted someone to hear you. And I’m here, Addison. I’m listening. “I let out a shaky breath, the pain from my ankle a constant reminder of how badly I’ve let things spiral out of control. My thoughts swirl with guilt—about Emilia, about Arabella, about how utterly I’ve failed them both. 

The tears come harder, wracking my chest and making it impossible to catch a full breath. It feels like everything—the guilt, the pain, the fear—is choking me all at once.

“Addison, are you…” Olivia’s voice wavers, unsure if she should finish the question.

“I’m fine,” I snap, though my voice breaks, betraying the lie.

“No, you’re not,” she counters firmly, her eyes darting between me and the road. “Stop saying that. You’re in pain. What can I do to help?” I choke back a sob, my body trembling as I try to gather myself.

“I… I need to relocate my ankle,” I finally say, the words escaping in a whisper as though they’re the most logical solution in the world. Olivia’s head snaps toward me, her disbelief plain.   

“You what?”

“It’s dislocated,” I explain numbly, barely able to look at her. “Not broken or sprained. At least, I think it’s not. If I set it now, it’ll stop hurting so much, and the swelling should go down.” Before she can argue, I push the seat back and try to reposition myself. The car jolts over a bump, and I bite back a scream as fresh pain shoots through my leg. 

“Addison!” Olivia snaps. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m fixing it,” I hiss through gritted teeth, undoing my seatbelt and shifting awkwardly in the seat. 

“In my car?!” she exclaims, her voice rising. “Are you completely insane? You can’t just—this isn’t safe, Addison! You’re not thinking straight!” I glare at her, tears still streaming down my face.

“I’m a doctor, Olivia. I’ve done this before. It’s not my first time relocating a joint.”  She shakes her head, muttering

“Ethan.” I freeze, the sound of his name like a slap to the face. My hands falter for a moment, but I force myself to focus.

“Don’t crash,” I warn her coldly, avoiding the weight of her gaze. “Even if I scream. Even if I cry.” 

“That’s impossible.” she says tersely. “But wait until I park. I’m not letting you do this while we’re moving.” 

“Fine,” I mutter, clenching my jaw as the pain throbs mercilessly.  It takes a few minutes in the stop and go traffic, but she finds somewhere safe and pulls over. Stopping the car.

 “Go ahead,” she says, her tone sharp. “Since you’re so determined to do this alone.” 

I ignore the bitterness in her voice, focusing on the task at hand. With practiced hands, I grip my ankle and, after a deep breath, quickly manipulate the joint back into place. A strangled cry escapes me as white-hot pain explodes through my leg, and then a sigh as the relief comes.

“Jesus, Addison!” Olivia exclaims, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she watches in horror. “You could have—” 

“Could have what?” I snap, though my voice is hoarse from the effort. The pain begins to fade, turning into a dull ache instead of the sharp, relentless agony. I lean back in the seat, my face pale and damp with sweat. “We’ll get through the emergency room much faster if it’s already relocated. They’ll just do an x-ray to confirm it’s not broken, and I’ll be out of there in no time.”  Olivia turns to face me fully, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Out of there in no time?” she repeats, her voice trembling. “Do you even hear yourself? You just screamed so loud I thought you were dying, and now you’re acting like this is some quick errand to check off your list. You’re not a machine, Addison. You’re falling apart, and you’re so focused on fixing everything yourself that you can’t even see it.”  Her words hit me harder than the pain ever could. I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.  She exhales shakily, her voice softening.

“You don’t have to be okay right now. You don’t have to do this alone. But you need to let someone help you. For once.” I stare at her, my resolve crumbling. The tears return, hot and uncontrollable, and I bury my face in my hands. The guilt, the pain, the exhaustion—it all comes crashing down, and I don’t have the strength to push it away anymore. “Let’s just get to the hospital,” Olivia says quietly, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “We’ll deal with everything else when we get there. Together.” I nod, barely able to breathe, and whisper,

“Okay.” 

“That was absolutely crazy, you know that, right?” Olivia says, her voice tinged with exasperation as she eases the car back onto the road. Her eyes flick toward me briefly to make sure I’m settled, my seatbelt securely fastened. 

“Not crazy,” I counter, leaning back and trying to ignore the dull throb in my ankle. “Confident.” I manage a half-hearted grin, though I know it falls short of the charm I’m aiming for. 

“Confident?” she echoes, one eyebrow arching in disbelief. “Confident is wearing heels to a job interview. Confident is asking for extra whipped cream on your latte. What you just did? That’s pure insanity.”  I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes me, though it feels strange to laugh after everything.

 “Well, at least I didn’t ask you to do it. That would’ve been insane.”  She glances at me again, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

“I think I would’ve preferred you asking. Watching you do it yourself was like some kind of weird medical horror show.” 

“Careful,” I tease. “If you keep saying things like that, I might take it as a compliment.” 

“Please don’t,” she shoots back, finally cracking a smile. “Your ego doesn’t need the boost.” 

For a moment, the tension between us eases, and I let myself enjoy the fleeting normalcy of our banter. But it doesn’t last. It never does. The silence that follows is heavier than it should be, weighed down by everything we’re not saying. I stare out the window, watching the world blur past, and my smile fades. 

“I wish we could just… be,” I say softly, almost to myself. 

“What do you mean?” Olivia asks, her tone gentle now, though I can feel her hesitation. 

“When we’re together,” I explain, my voice barely above a whisper. “I wish it could just be us. No undertones. No shadows. No ‘Addison’s trapped in an abusive marriage in need of saving’ just us the way we are when things are happy, lighter.” She doesn’t respond right away, and I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully. 

“Addison…” she begins, but I shake my head. 

“I know,” I interrupt, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I know he’s always going to be there. I know my life is never going to change. It’s just… exhausting, you know?” 

 “You’re wrong,” she says after a moment. I turn to look at her, surprised.

“What?” 

“Your life can change,” she says firmly. “It will change. But you have to want it to. And you have to let people in—let me in—if you’re going to get there.”  I feel a lump rise in my throat. I want to believe her, but the weight of everything feels too much, too permanent. 

“You make it sound so simple,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, though the crack in my voice betrays me.  I hate that I keep saying this, but she does.

“It’s not,” she admits, her voice softening again. “But nothing about you has ever been simple, Addison. And that’s why I’m still here.”  I swallow hard, unable to respond, and turn back to the window. The ache in my chest is harder to ignore than the one in my ankle, but I don’t know how to tell her that. 

“I want to be more to you than just the victim you’re trying to save,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.  The words hang in the air like a challenge I hadn’t meant to throw down, and I brace myself for her reaction. 

“Is that what you think this is?” she asks, her voice steady but tinged with something I can’t quite place. “What our friendship is? That I view you as just a victim?” I shrug, avoiding her eyes. I don’t know how to answer, or maybe I don’t want to.

“It feels like you’re trying to save me,” I murmur, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve.  She sighs, a heavy sound that seems to fill the car.

“Maybe I am,” she admits, her tone softening, “but you are so much more than just a victim, Addison. You’re my best friend. Do you really think I would do all of this—go through all of this—for someone who meant nothing to me?” 

I shrug again, and this time it feels like a betrayal, even to myself. It’s not that I don’t believe her. It’s just that… well, Olivia’s always been the kind of person who gives her all to everyone she’s trying to help. She doesn’t stop at ‘enough.’ She pushes further, does more, because that’s just who she is. And I’ve seen her do it before, going above and beyond for people she barely knows. 

“Addison,” she presses, her voice firmer now, pulling me out of my thoughts. 

“I get it,” I say quickly, trying to deflect, trying to shove us back into safer, lighter territory. “You’re just that kind of person. Saint Olivia, patron of the lost and injured.” I offer her a teasing smile, though I know it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.  She doesn’t take the bait. Her gaze flicks toward me, sharp and unyielding.

 “Don’t do that,” she says quietly. “Don’t turn this into a joke just because it’s easier for you.” 

“I’m not,” I lie, but my voice is too defensive to be convincing. 

“Yes, you are,” she counters, not unkindly but with the kind of certainty that makes me squirm. “You’re trying to brush this off because you don’t want to face what it really means. But I need you to hear me when I say this: I’m here because I love you. Because you’re my friend and I care about you and your children. Not out of pity, not because I see you as a project or someone to fix. But because you matter to me, Addison.”  Her words hit harder than I expect, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. My throat tightens, and I blink rapidly, desperate to keep the tears at bay.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I manage finally, my voice thick. 

“I know you didn’t,” she says softly. “But you need to stop believing that’s all you are—to me or to anyone else. You’re so much more.” I nod, swallowing hard, though I don’t entirely believe her. Not yet.

“I just… I don’t want to be a burden,” I confess, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. 

“You’re not a burden,” she says firmly, her hand reaching across to rest on mine for just a moment. “You’re my best friend. And I’m not going anywhere.” I nod again, unable to respond. I stare out the window, trying to gather myself, knowing she’s waiting for me to speak. Finally, I force a shaky laugh, desperate to lighten the mood.

“I guess Saint Olivia has her hands full, huh?” She lets out a small huff, a cross between amusement and exasperation.

“I swear, Addison, you’re impossible,” she mutters, though there’s no real bite in her words. 

 

“Of course I am, but you wouldn’t want me any other way,” I quip, offering her a lopsided grin.  She rolls her eyes but smiles despite herself.

As we get closer to the hospital, I begin to fall silent. The words that once came easily are now trapped in my throat, strangled by the rising tide of panic clawing its way through me. My chest feels tight, and each breath seems to stick halfway. 

“Addison?” Olivia’s voice breaks through the haze, soft but insistent.  I don’t respond right away, keeping my gaze fixed on the blur of streetlights outside the window. 

“Talk to me,” she urges, her tone calm but edged with concern. “What’s going on in your head right now?” 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admit finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… too much.” 

“You don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here with you, okay? One step at a time. First, we get your ankle looked at. The rest… we’ll handle together.” 

“I don’t want them to ask questions,” I say, my words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I already told you what happened. I don’t want to explain again. I don’t want to relive it.” 

“You don’t have to,” Olivia says gently. “You tell them what you’re ready to, nothing more. I’ll be there the whole time. I will tell them that I’m taking you into the station so they don’t call SVU.  Just… let me help you.”  We pull up to the hospital. The fluorescent lights above the entrance feel too bright, too exposing. Olivia puts the car in park and turns to me, her gaze steady.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I nod, though I can’t bring myself to say anything.  She slips out of the car and walks briskly to the entrance, returning moments later with a wheelchair. She opens my door and crouches down beside me, her movements careful but efficient. 

“Okay, let’s get you into this thing,” she says softly, her hands steady as she helps me shift my weight onto her. I bite back a hiss of pain as my injured ankle moves, and she catches the sound, her expression tightening with concern. 

Once I’m settled in the wheelchair and safely on the sidewalk, Olivia jogs back to park the car. The few minutes she’s gone feel like an eternity, and by the time she returns, I’m gripping the armrests so tightly my knuckles are white. 

“I want to go home,” I whisper the moment she’s back at my side. 

“No, Addie,” she says firmly but gently. “We’re already here. Stay with me, just for tonight.” I hesitate, the urge to push back bubbling up inside me, but I don’t have the energy for another argument. Instead, I sigh, slumping a little in the chair.

“It sounds like you have to stay with me, not the other way around,” I say, trying for humor but not quite landing it. 

“Whatever it takes,” she says simply. 

I glance down at my swollen ankle, its angry, misshapen appearance a stark reminder of everything I’ve been ignoring. The pain is a dull throb now, a constant companion I’ve stopped trying to fight.

 “We’re not using my real name,” I state firmly, my tone leaving no room for negotiation. The thought of people knowing—of this becoming public—is unbearable. 

“That’s okay,” Olivia assures me, her voice low and steady. “We’ll do whatever makes you feel safe.” I study her face, trying to gauge if she really understands what I’m asking.

“You’re taking me in like any other victim,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “No special treatment.” 

“Understood,” she says without hesitation, her tone unwavering. “You’re just like anyone else who needs help.”  Her response is grounding, pulling me back from the edge. She’s taking me seriously, not coddling me, not looking at me like I’m shattered glass. There’s a strange comfort in that, in being seen but not pitied. 

“Thank you,” I mutter, more to fill the silence than anything else.  Olivia gives me a small smile, a flicker of warmth in her otherwise composed demeanor.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay, Addison. That’s all.” 

We get settled into a room quickly. They insist on blood tests and urine tests, then give me an IV and pain medication for my ankle, and I try to focus on anything to distract from the gnawing anxiety building up in my chest. They get the x-ray as soon as the IV and pain medication are in place, and then put us in a hospital room to wait. As we sit there, waiting in the sterile, dimly lit room, the silence is suffocating. My mind is still reeling from everything that’s happened tonight, and now this, this procedure that feels too much like a violation in its own right, no matter how much I know it’s necessary. A few minutes pass, and then a female doctor and a nurse step into the room. The doctor’s face is kind, but there’s a professionalism there that makes me feel like I’m just another case to be dealt with. It makes me feel small. The nurse stands behind her, quietly preparing a tray of supplies, her movements efficient but gentle.

"We're going to walk you through everything, okay?" the doctor says, her voice low and steady, trying to ease the tension that hangs in the air. "We need to take a few samples, document your injuries, and make sure we gather all the evidence we can. The process can take some time, but we’ll do it as gently and respectfully as possible."

I nod, though inside, my heart is hammering in my chest. The gravity of the situation bears down on me with each word they say, and the gravity of what’s happening sinks in deeper with each step. I glance at Olivia, sitting by my side. She squeezes my hand tightly, offering a quiet comfort, though I know she’s as shaken as I am. But I can’t look at her right now, can’t let her see the pain this is causing me, the humiliation of having to relive it all over again.

The nurse begins to prepare the supplies—bags of evidence, swabs, vials for samples. She’s careful, organized, and there’s an almost clinical distance to the way she moves. She’s done this a hundred times, I know. And yet, the thought of someone going through my body, documenting every bruise, every scrape, every mark, fills me with a deep, aching discomfort. It makes everything feel more real. More final. I wish I could shut down, shut it all out, but it’s impossible. The doctor moves closer, explaining each step in detail, making sure I understand what’s happening. Her voice is kind, but her words feel like a cold, indifferent reminder of everything I’ve been through. I’ve done this for patients, I’ve been the one gathering evidence for victims, but now I’m on the other side of it, and the experience is nothing like I imagined.

As the doctor and nurse begin their work, taking the necessary samples and documenting the injuries, I focus on Olivia. She’s there, right beside me, holding my hand tightly. I don’t want her to see me this way. I wish she didn’t have to know just how bad things have gotten for me. I wish she didn’t have to witness this. But she’s here, and I know she’s doing her best to offer me some kind of support, even though I can see the worry in her eyes. She’s doing this for me, even if it’s tearing her apart on the inside.

The doctor finishes up with the samples and begins taking photographs of my injuries. Old and new. The flash of the camera is a sharp contrast to the darkness of the room. The photos will be documented evidence, evidence of the abuse I’ve endured. I can’t escape the feeling of being exposed, of having every part of me scrutinized and examined under a microscope. When the procedure is done, the doctor nods to the nurse, who leaves the room briefly. The doctor, too, steps back, giving me a moment of privacy. She returns with a pair of clean scrubs—pants, a shirt, underwear, a bra, and socks—carefully folded. She places them on the bed beside me.

“You can change into these when you’re ready,” she says, her voice gentle but matter-of-fact. “We’ll leave the room now, and you can take your time. We’ll be back with the results of your bloodwork, and x-ray when they’re available.” They both step out, leaving me with Olivia. The door clicks shut behind them, and for a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my breath, uneven and shaky. The weight of it all crashes down on me again, and I feel the tears well up in my eyes. I blink them back quickly, not wanting Olivia to see how much this is breaking me. How much submitting to her simple request hurt. I turn my gaze toward her. Her face is full of compassion, but there’s something else there, too—something that tells me she’s trying to hold it together for me, trying to be strong when I feel like I’m falling apart.

"I’ll help you change," Olivia says softly, her voice the only anchor I have right now. "It’s okay."

I don’t argue. I can’t, not with how my body feels like it’s been shredded and put back together in pieces. I let Olivia help me take off the ugly hospital gown, the fabric rough against my skin, and replace it with the clean scrubs the doctor provided. The feel of fresh clothes against my skin should be comforting, but it only serves to remind me of how much I’ve lost, how much of myself is gone. How I’ll never be the same again after tonight after there is actual evidence of what happened on the record.

Olivia helps me, her hands steady but gentle, her presence offering me the quiet comfort I need. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still broken, still shattered. All I can do is close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to piece myself back together again, one fragile step at a time.

We’ve been there for about an hour and a half, waiting for the results of the x-ray and the orthopedic attending to come in. We are talking quietly about the children, when all of a sudden, the door swings open, and I see Ethan. The protective wall I’ve so carefully constructed in my mind snaps back up, instinctively. It’s like the switch gets flipped, and my body tenses, knowing that I’m about to have to navigate the space where I don’t feel safe but have no choice but to pretend otherwise.

“Hey,” I say softly, my voice careful as I look up at him trying not to look too surprised to see him. I’m lying in the hospital bed, trying to keep my composure. Ethan rushes toward me with that familiar, hurried, almost exaggerated expression of concern. He presses a quick kiss to my cheek, too quickly, and hands me a bouquet of flowers, something I don’t expect. He follows it with a little “get well soon” teddy bear.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, the question falling from my lips before I can stop it. The tone is soft, but there's an edge, a desperation buried in the way I try to control my voice. “I’m sorry, I would have called but my phones dead.”

“The chief called me. He said you’d been admitted.” His voice is calm, affectionate, like any loving husband would sound. But I know better, I’ve learned the language. “What happened? Are you okay?”

I see Olivia move slightly closer, almost imperceptibly, as if she's trying to create some space between us, to shield me in some quiet, protective way. She’s close enough for me to feel her presence, but not enough to make it obvious to Ethan. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, she looks apologetic, almost guilty, like it wasn’t to keep Ethan from finding me, we didn’t use my name, or my insurance information and he still found me. It was  not enough to get us to a completely different hospital where no one would recognize me. So here we are, stuck in a room with so many people who know who I am.

“I slipped on one of the kids toys,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m so sorry. My ankle... it may be broken.” The moment I say it, Ethan’s face shifts, though his concern seems more like a mask. He doesn’t sound worried—he sounds more like he’s trying to find something to use against me. He crosses his arms, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

“You always were the clumsy one, huh?” he says, the words coming out in that condescending, joking tone that cuts deeper than he probably intends. He’s trying to make light of it, but it’s not funny. It’s humiliating. He’s belittling me in front of Olivia, and I feel my stomach twist in response. “Maybe if that maid you hired would actually clean the house…”

“I’m fine. Just... typical me, always messing things up. I guess I’m just not as careful as I should be. It’s my fault, honestly. I’ve always been a bit of a disaster. But don’t worry, it’s nothing serious.” My voice cracks. Deep down, I know that it’s not true. I’m not a disaster, but I say it any way, because it’s easier. It’s easier than making Ethan angry, easier than admitting to him that I’m scared, that I want to leave. Olivia can see the lie, and the hurt behind it, but she doesn’t speak. She simply watches, holding back the anger boiling up inside her. She knows I am  protecting herself, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch. She treads very carefully, knowing that I am planning on going home to him, not wanting to make things worse on me once I leave the hospital. Ethan sighs heavily, his tone tight but laced with what sounds like concern.

“You really couldn’t have come to our hospital? I had to take off work for this, Addison. I had a whole day planned, and now here I am, rushing over here, across the city,  because you couldn’t bother to watch where you’re walking. You don’t think about these things, do you? How much it affects me. It’s always like this, isn’t it? I’m stuck dealing with the messes that you’ve made.” He pauses, his gaze softening just a bit, as if to convince himself it sounds better.

“I just want you to be safe. I can’t keep doing this every time you get hurt.” The words are coated in what could easily be mistaken for concern, but beneath them, there’s a clear undertone of frustration, as if my injury is a personal inconvenience. Both Olivia and I can feel it—Ethan’s frustration disguised as worry. Olivia’s anger rising at the manipulation, but she remains silent, not yet ready to call it out. Her body stiffens, her brow furrows with outrage, but she doesn’t say anything. Ethan doesn’t notice how I gently reach for her hand, shaking my head in that subtle, silent warning that says,

“Don’t.” I’m trying to keep Olivia calm, to keep her from reacting, but it’s hard. God, it’s hard.

“Ethan,” I say, my voice dropping a little, falling into the careful, controlled tone that has become second nature to me when I’m around him. It’s like slipping back into the role I’ve had to play for so long, to survive, to keep the peace. To stay safe. The familiar fear stirs in my chest, even as I’m trying so desperately to suppress it. “I really appreciate you visiting, and I’m sorry they called you, but I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Addison’s been through a lot. It’s not her fault.” Olivia stays quiet for a moment, but her eyes, filled with so much empathy, flicker between me and Ethan. Finally, she says, “Coming here was my idea, she wanted to go to the hospital you both work at, so you wouldn’t have to leave, but I was worried delaying treatment would make the injury worse, and insisted we come here.” Ethan seems oblivious, or maybe he’s just choosing to be. His eyes turn back to me with that calculated concern of his.

“Why are you here so late? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

 “I couldn’t drive. And I didn’t want to have the nanny bring the kids to the ER with me. It’s already hard enough, and I didn’t want to risk them getting sick, you know?” I lower my eyes slightly, my gaze shifting, trying to seem like the obedient wife. I hesitate, pretending to gather my thoughts, searching for the right words, the ones that will keep everything smooth, that will keep him from seeing the cracks. “So, I called Olivia. I didn’t want to bother you. I know you’re so busy at work, and calling an ambulance would have been even more humiliating.”

“I was working tonight any way. It really was no trouble.” Ethan’s face softens, his tone almost warm now, as though he’s finally getting what he wants: gratitude.

 “Thank you, Olivia, for looking after her. I appreciate it.” His words, they don’t feel like gratitude; they feel like a trap, a subtle reminder that Olivia's role is only to take care of me when it’s convenient for him. Only when he allows it. The undercurrent of control is always there, underneath the surface. And I feel it in every word he speaks, every glance he sends my way.

The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, his expression professional yet not without a hint of concern. “Well, Addison,” he says, his voice steady, “you did a good job relocating the dislocated joint. It’s back in place properly. But… it’s broken, unfortunately.” My heart sinks a little at the words, and I try not to let it show. The doctor continues, “You’ll need to wear a cast for about six to eight weeks while it heals. We’ll set you up with all the proper aftercare, and you’ll be on crutches for a bit.” I nod, taking in the information, but I’m still focused on the way the word "broken" echoes in my head.  So…Olivia was right…again. Ethan’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and irritated.  He gives us further instructions, and then I thank him and then he leaves the room to get discharge paperwork.

“Six to eight weeks? Are you serious?” His voice isn’t harsh, just shocked, as if he doesn’t know how this works. “Right before the hospital ball? Addison you can’t be serious.”  I can’t even look at him as he speaks. I know he’s upset, but his words feel like a slap, even though I know he’s not really aiming at me. I’ve never been good at handling his anger, and in this moment, it feels heavier than usual. 

“I… I’m sorry, Ethan,” I stammer, already feeling like the apology is too little, too late. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” The words sound hollow as I say them, but I can’t stop them from coming out. Ethan’s gaze sharpens, and for a split second, his eyes flash with irritation.

“Sorry? You’re sorry? He repeats, his voice rising just a fraction. “You’re going to be stuck in a cast at the hospital ball, and that’s the best you can say?” His voice is tight with frustration, his jaw clenched as he looks down at me. “This is going to ruin everything that you’ve worked so hard for Addison…”  I shrink back slightly, feeling the weight of his anger settling on me. I’ve never wanted to disappoint him more than I do right now, and it feels like I’ve already failed in a way I can’t fix.  Olivia steps forward, her voice calm but assertive, trying to defuse the tension in the room without making things worse.

“Ethan, I think Addison’s had enough to deal with for one night.” She turns to me, her gaze softening. “You’re doing the best you can. We’ll figure it out, Addison. It’s not the end of the world, maybe you could decorate the cast for the ball.”  But Olivia is also aware of how fragile things are right now. She can’t push too hard, can’t show too much defiance, because Ethan has always held the power to shut people out of my life, especially her. I can see the caution in her eyes, the careful balance she’s trying to maintain. She doesn’t want to make things worse for me, but she also knows I need her now more than ever.  Ethan’s face doesn’t soften, but he’s silent for a moment, his anger lingering in the air between us. I can feel his disapproval like a weight pressing on my chest. He’s upset, and I understand why—this is just one more complication in a life that already feels like it’s unraveling. But it doesn’t make it easier. 

“I just don’t get it,” Ethan finally mutters, his voice quieter but still tinged with frustration. “We’ve worked so hard for this event. You’ve worked so hard. And now you’re going to be sitting there, in a cast, like some… .”

“I didn’t plan this,” I say quietly, cutting him off,  trying to explain without sounding defensive. “I didn’t ask for any of this to happen. But it has, and I have to deal with it now.” 

“Yeah, and I’m the one who gets to deal with it too,” Ethan snaps, though his anger seems more internalized now. “Great. Just… great.”  Olivia shifts slightly, her eyes flicking between the two of us. I know she’s trying to be supportive, but I can feel her hesitation as she looks at Ethan. She doesn’t want to provoke him further, not when I’m already in the middle of all this. 

“Ethan,” she says carefully, her tone a little firmer, “I understand this isn’t what you wanted, but Addison didn’t want this either. This is not her fault.” I look at Olivia, grateful for her support but also keenly aware of the delicate line she’s walking. I know that Ethan can be unforgiving, and if this pushes him too far, it might cost her something more than just a fight. It might cost her access to me. And I don’t know if I can bear losing her too. 

“I’ll figure it out,” I finally say, trying to sound more certain than I feel. “I’ll figure out the ball, I’ll figure out everything. It’s going to be okay, Ethan, I promise.” Ethan doesn’t respond, his silence more telling than anything else. And I can’t help but wonder if this is the beginning of a shift in the way things are going to go from here on out. His tone shifts, becoming more performative, almost rehearsed.

“Addison was so excited for this ball, you know?” He speaks with a strained smile, his voice tinged with frustration, but also a facade of care. “She spent weeks planning it—picking out the perfect dress, high heels, jewelry. She even splurged a little. It’s been months since she had the time to feel like herself again after the baby. She’s worked so hard to lose weight, to get into this ballgown, to feel confident. And now... well, now this happens.” 

I swallow, the sting of his words cutting deeper than the physical pain in my ankle. I know this is his way of apologizing for his earlier outburst, but it feels distant—like he’s trying to salvage his image rather than address the deeper emotions swirling under the surface. 

“She was so proud of the progress she made,” Ethan continues, his voice rising slightly. “This was going to be her moment—to shine, to feel beautiful again. And now... now she’s stuck with a cast. It’s just... it’s not fair.” His face contorts with frustration, but there’s something softer underneath it, something that feels almost like regret. "She’s missed out on so much already. I just—I’m upset, okay? This was supposed to be her night. She deserves that. She deserves to feel like she can have a little bit of joy, after everything."

I can feel Olivia standing beside me, her hand resting gently on my arm, grounding me as I try to digest Ethan’s words. He’s upset, but in some ways, he’s also acknowledging that he sees me. It doesn’t erase the anger or the weight of the situation, but it’s a fleeting attempt to show that he’s not completely blind to what I’ve been going through.

“You know I’d do anything to make this right,” Ethan says, his voice dropping a little, more sincere now but still carrying a note of frustration. “I just—look, I’m upset because I want her to have everything she worked for, okay? She deserves that.” 

His words, though coated in his own frustration, sound like an apology of sorts, but it’s not quite enough to make me feel better. I look at Olivia, and I know she sees it too—that tension between the surface-level gestures and the deeper problems bubbling just beneath. Ethan’s words are a step in the right direction, but they don’t undo the quiet storm inside me—the realization that I’m not just dealing with an ankle injury; I’m dealing with the weight of my entire life, fractured in ways I didn’t expect.

The injury—it has to stay an accident. Ethan can never know. He can never understand that it wasn’t just bad luck that led to this moment. It wasn’t just some random twist of fate that caused me to fall, to land the way I did, to end up in a hospital room with my ankle broken and swollen. It wasn’t just a misstep. It was… it was a choice. I bite my lip, pushing the thought away.

Even now, sitting here, with Olivia by my side, I feel the pull of the truth, a truth that I can’t let surface. I can't let Ethan see what’s really going on, because if he does, if he figures out the reasons behind this injury, the reasons behind the way I’ve been acting, everything will fall apart. He’ll never forgive me. And worse, he’ll use it against me—he'll turn everything I’ve done, everything I’ve tried to keep together, into something else entirely. I’ll become something even more broken than I already am. No, I’ll never admit that this wasn’t just an accident.

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I hold on to it like it’s my only lifeline. For now, this injury will remain an accident, nothing more than a twist of fate. Ethan will never know the truth: that I caused it. That I wanted it. That, in some strange, twisted way, I needed it. I needed a reason to escape. I needed a reason to be with Olivia tonight, to be away from the life that’s slowly suffocating me. Being with Olivia, even in the sterile, impersonal walls of a hospital, feels like a breath of fresh air, like a sliver of freedom that I never thought I’d have.

I close my eyes, feeling the tension slowly seep out of my shoulders. I know this will cause problems later, I know that this decision will eat at me eventually, but for now, it gives me something—something to hold on to, something that feels like it matters. Just for tonight, just for a few hours, I can pretend I’m someone else. I can pretend I’m not trapped in a life I never wanted, I’m not slowly losing myself under the weight of expectations and disappointments. I can be here, with Olivia, where things feel… lighter. I can breathe. But as much as I crave this moment, as much as I want to feel free, there’s a lingering guilt that eats away at the back of my mind. I know the truth will come out, it always does. Eventually, Ethan will ask questions, and I’ll have to lie to protect myself. But for now… for now, the lie is all I have. It’s the only thing standing between me and everything that feels suffocating.

I glance at Olivia, sitting quietly beside me, her presence steady and reassuring. I want to reach for her, to take comfort in her, but I stop myself. This is temporary, I remind myself. A brief escape. Just long enough to let me breathe before I’m pulled back into the reality I’ve built for myself. A reality where I’m suffocated, where my life is not my own, where I can never admit to wanting anything more than what’s expected of me. No one can know. Not now. Not ever. I look down at my ankle, still throbbing with pain, and realize that, even though the injury is real, so much of it—so much of what’s going on inside my head—isn’t. It’s a facade, just like everything else I’ve tried to build. And for a brief moment, I think that maybe, just maybe, I can keep pretending a little longer. Ethan’s pager buzzes sharply, the sound cutting through the stillness of the room. His eyes flick to the screen, his face dropping as he reads the message. I can feel the shift in the air, the tension that always rises when something important calls him away.

“I’ve got to go,” he says, his voice tight with frustration. “Emergency heart surgery. I’ll see you at home after my shift. I’ll let our Chief know you were injured, our job requires standing, most of the day. You’ll probably need at least four weeks off to recover.” I nod and he leans over the bed, giving me a quick, almost stiff hug. I feel the familiar pressure of his arms around me, but all I can focus on is the way my body tenses under his touch, every muscle instinctively bracing for something I can’t name. The moment is brief, but it feels endless, like there’s something unspoken between us, something heavy that neither of us is addressing.

“Ask for two weeks..” I say.

“You can’t be hobbling around the hospital on crutches Addison.”

“I’ll get a knee scooter. It’ll be okay. I don’t want to stay away any longer than I have to.” He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine as if trying to find something—something that will make this whole situation easier.

"I love you," he says softly, almost as if he’s trying to reassure himself as much as me. "You know that, right?" I swallow hard, the lump in my throat rising as I force myself to nod. I look up at him, trying to make my voice sound steady, but it comes out strained, hollow.

"I know. I love you too." The words feel like they’re being dragged out of me, every syllable heavy with the weight of everything that’s wrong, everything I can’t bring myself to say. His eyes narrow slightly, a flash of guilt passing over his features.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he says, his voice low. He’s referring to his words earlier—the harsh things he said about the ball, about my injury. "I just know how much you were looking forward to it. How disappointing this is for you." I close my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. The hurt is there, beneath the surface, but I shove it down, burying it beneath layers of indifference.

"I know," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "It’s okay. “The words come out too quickly, too flat. He catches it immediately. His expression falters, frustration creeping into his features.

 "That’s all you’re going to say? It’s okay?" His tone rises, a trace of bitterness slipping through. "You don’t think this matters at all? “I blink, my chest tightening. I’ve apologized so many times already. It feels like I’ve apologized for everything, for every mistake I’ve ever made. What more does he want from me?

"I already said I’m sorry," I respond, my voice strained with the exhaustion of it all. "What more do you want me to say?" Ethan doesn’t respond immediately. His lips press together in a thin line as he looks at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. He knows I’m right, but it doesn’t change the fact that the apology doesn’t seem to be enough. His pager goes off again, the sharp beep dragging us both back to reality.

"Sorry," he mutters, not looking at me now. "I really have to go." He doesn’t wait for a response as he steps back, grabbing his coat and heading toward the door. I stay still, watching him go, my heart sinking deeper into my chest with each step he takes away from me. Olivia’s presence by the door is a quiet reminder that I’m not alone in the room, but it’s not enough to fill the hollow space Ethan’s departure has left behind. I look at her, trying to force a smile, but it feels more like a grimace.

“Are you okay?” Olivia asks, her voice soft, concerned. I nod slowly, but I don’t believe it.

“Yeah.” I say, swallowing again, throat dry. “I’m fine. It’s okay, Olivia.” Olivia doesn’t press further, but I can feel her eyes on me, understanding something I’m not ready to acknowledge. She walks over to the bed and sits down, a comforting presence that I cling to more than I care to admit.

Minutes later they come in and wrap my ankle in a navy blue cast to match the scrubs they gave me. They asked what color I wanted, and I have no preference, what would it really matter? It’s just an empty indifference. They give me crutches, and then the doctor leaves to make sure my discharge paperwork and prescriptions are prepared. I can’t bring myself to feel relief. The cast feels heavy, clunky.

“I don’t want to go home,” I say quietly. Olivia is sitting beside me, her gaze fixed on me with a mixture of concern and frustration, trying to reach me in ways I can’t quite grasp.

“You don’t have to go home, Addison,” Olivia says, her voice steady but insistent. “Come with me to the station. We can  fill out the police report, You can get a restraining order, and you can leave. You’ve done it before. You can do it again.” I shake my head, the words sticking in my throat.

 “I can’t,” I whisper. “I don’t even know why I did all of this… You know I can’t leave him, right? Things are different now. The children love him. He’s their father, and he would never hurt them.”

“And what about you, Addison?” Olivia’s voice is calm but laced with an edge. Her eyes search mine for an answer, but I don’t have one. “Do you love him?” The question hangs there, heavy in the silence between us. My heart lurches. I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. Do I love him? The thought bounces around my mind, tangled in confusion and guilt. I loved him once, didn’t I? I must have. But love doesn’t feel like this. Not anymore. Not when the truth about what he’s done hangs over everything like a dark cloud.

“I…” My voice falters, and I feel like I’m drowning in all the things I can’t say. I loved him, or I thought I did, but now... What is love when it’s built on lies, manipulation, and fear? Olivia’s eyes soften, but she’s not about to back down.

“I’m just asking because when you kissed me at the bar, and again in your living room… It didn’t feel like you love him. It felt like…” She trails off, but her meaning is clear. She doesn’t need to say anything more. We both know what she’s thinking. She’s too afraid to say it aloud, but then she does anyway. “You don’t kiss someone like that when you’re in love with someone else.” I flinch, the words cutting deeper than I expected. I try to find something to hold onto, some explanation that will make this all make sense. But nothing comes.

“We were both drunk,” I say, my voice weak, trying to rationalize the irrational. “Maybe I just needed an escape,” I mutter, but even as the words leave my lips, I can tell how empty they sound. Olivia raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“An escape?” she repeats, her voice rough. “To feel something, anything, right? But that doesn’t make sense, because I kissed you first, Addison. So what does that say?” Her eyes search mine, daring me to explain. I don’t have an answer. Not one that makes sense, not one that would make this right. I know she’s right. This wasn’t just a slip-up, a moment of weakness. It wasn’t just about being drunk. There’s something deeper, something that pulls us together even when I try to pull away.

“I’m just saying…” I trail off, trying to keep the words from spilling out, trying to make sense of all the chaos in my head. “Clearly, we both need something we’re not getting,” I finally say. “But that’s not it. That’s not why I kissed you.”

“Then what is it?” Olivia’s voice is quieter now, but the intensity in her gaze hasn’t faded. “How do you know it wasn’t just an escape? How do you know it was real?” I feel the pressure building, like I’m drowning in her questions. I know she’s frustrated, and I know she’s trying to understand, but her persistence feels like a weight I can’t carry right now. It’s the same kind of pressure I’ve felt when Ethan has questioned me, when he’s demanded answers I didn’t have. I can’t breathe under the weight of it.

“Because I wouldn’t use you like that,” I say quickly, the words coming out almost defensive. “I know you wouldn’t use me either. Our friendship means more to me than just a quick fuck, Olivia.” I wince at the words, the harshness of them, but I can’t take them back now. I see Olivia’s eyes widen, shocked at the word I used. It wasn’t supposed to sound like that, but it does.

“Addison… that’s…” She stops, unsure how to respond. The tension between us shifts, the air thick with things left unsaid. “You’re putting a lot of faith in me,” she says softly, almost as if she’s questioning herself now. “More than I deserve. I almost hurt you that night.” I shake my head immediately, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

“No, you didn’t.”

“How do you know? You were hammered, Addison.” There’s a flicker of fear in her eyes now, something I wasn’t expecting. She looks almost afraid of herself, like she’s questioning her own actions.

“I trust you,” I say, the honesty of the words surprising me. Despite everything, despite the mess we’ve found ourselves in, I do trust her. “You would never hurt me, not like he has. Not on purpose, anyway. Olivia holds my gaze for a long moment, her expression unreadable, before she shakes her head slightly, her voice lowering to a soft whisper.

“You broke your ankle,” she says, her tone laced with concern. “You can’t keep hurting yourself to get my attention. You’ve got it, Addison. You always have.” I open my mouth to protest, to explain that it wasn’t like that, but the words don’t come. Olivia is right, in a way. I have been hurting myself, staying in a situation where I’m not truly seen, not really loved. And for what? To keep up an image? To maintain a semblance of normalcy?

“I didn’t…” I begin, but Olivia cuts me off gently.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” she says, her voice soft, almost tender. “But just know… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Addison. You don’t have to go through this alone.” Olivia’s hand is firm on mine as she looks at me with a quiet intensity, her gaze soft yet insistent.

“Addison, we’re going to the station. We need to file the report. This isn’t just for you—it’s for the kids too, okay? You don’t want this to keep happening, do you?” The words hang in the air, but I shake my head, unwilling to give in just yet.

“I can’t,” I protest, my voice a little more fragile than I want it to be. “I don’t want to deal with the police, with any of this. It’s… it’s just too much.” Olivia’s hand squeezes mine, grounding me. She doesn’t look at me with pity. No, it’s something else. Something deeper—something that tells me she’s not going to let me back out. “Going to the police, filing a report, it makes the danger more….real.”

“It’s already real. It’s been real for a long time. This won’t go away if we ignore it.”

“Please,” I whisper, almost desperate. “I trust you, Olivia, but I can’t do this. I can’t handle it. What if things get worse? What if… what if it all falls apart?” Olivia leans in a little, her voice lowering with an unspoken understanding.

“I trust you too,” she says, her words soothing yet piercing. “But I also know you’re scared.” I look at her, confusion twisting in my chest.

“Scared of what? I’m not scared of you.” She doesn’t hesitate.

“I meant that you’re scared of the affair, of commitment, of your husband. And honestly? I think you’re scared of yourself, too. Scared of what you’re becoming, scared of what happens if you let yourself truly feel. You’ve been running from this for so long, Addison.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I can feel them slicing through my defenses, unraveling the little threads I’ve been clinging to for so long. I open my mouth to deny it, to push her away, but the truth is, I can’t. I am scared—of all of it. The idea of loving her, of committing to something so raw and real, terrifies me. I’m afraid of what happens after the children go to bed at night. I’m afraid of the quiet moments when it’s just us and the weight of everything we’ve never been able to say. I want more of those moments. More kisses, more laughter, more of her in my life. But I also want to protect her. From Ethan. From myself. From this confusion that I can’t make sense of.

“I…” My voice falters, and I can’t finish the sentence. How do I explain the tangled mess inside my heart? How do I tell her that I’m not just scared of Ethan, of the fallout, but of the way I feel for her? Judging by her words, she knows. I don’t know how to love. Not like she does.

“Don’t apologize,” Olivia says softly, almost as if she can read my mind. “This is all messy. I know that. But Addison, I’m not asking you to fix it all right now. Just… just trust me, okay? We’ll go to the station, we’ll file the report. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

I stare at her for a long moment, her face a mixture of empathy and determination. She’s not backing down, and somewhere inside me, I know she’s right. This is the only way forward.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I admit quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud, and it feels like a confession. Olivia’s expression softens, but there’s a hint of something in her eyes—a fire, a fierce protectiveness.

“You won’t lose me, Addison. I’m not going anywhere.” I swallow hard, the weight of her words both comforting and terrifying. She’s offering me everything, and I don’t know how to accept it, don’t know how to make sense of it. But I know I can’t keep living in fear, not of her, not of the situation, not of myself.

“Okay,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go with you. You’re right. I need to get out. I need to move forward.” Olivia nods, her grip on my hand tightening just a little, as if to reassure me.

“Good,” Olivia says, her tone steady but still warm, the kind of reassurance I need. “We’ll get this sorted out.” I look at her, the uncertainty gnawing at me again.

“What if we’re not really anything to each other?” I ask softly, my voice betraying my doubt. “What if this is just a trauma bond, and the second I’m okay, you leave me?” Olivia’s expression hardens slightly, her eyes flashing with something that feels like hurt and anger, a blend I don’t often see in her.

“I would never, and screw you for saying that.” I wince at her words, the sting sharper than I expect. I try to lighten the mood, to push the tension away.

“What if I just need a bad idea?” I ask, raising my eyebrows and giving her a mischievous look. She frowns, clearly confused at first, by the change in my tone, but I can’t take the tension anymore. I feel like I am going to explode.

 “What do you mean by that?” she asks, her voice laced with curiosity. I trail off with a small smile, and then it clicks.

“You know… like the Broadway song?” I let the words drift, hoping she catches on. It takes a second, and then her eyes widen as the realization hits her.

“Wait—oh! You mean ‘Bad Idea’ from Waitress?” she says, a playful glint lighting up her eyes. A small smile plays at her lips, remembering the night we went to see the show together a few months ago.

“Ooh,” she whispers, and then starts humming softly, the tune echoing in her mind. “It’s a bad idea, me and you,” she sings quietly, as if testing the waters. I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.

“What if this causes me to lose you?” I ask again, voice soft, hesitant. “What if we’re just a bad idea, and it was never meant to work out?”

“It won’t,” she responds, her voice steady, though there’s a smirk that plays around the edges of her lips. “I think it’s more like that one song you used to laugh at me for loving so much… ‘I didn’t plan it.’” She grins wider, a playful look crossing her features. “You needed saving, and a good mistake needed making. Something to feel, to race through your blood and remind you you’re here…” She sings the words in a soft, singsong voice, changing the lyrics slightly, making it her own. I groan, half-annoyed but mostly amused by how she twists my words.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” I counter, rolling my eyes as I reach for the nearest hospital pillow. With a playful smirk, I toss the pillow at her, not expecting much of a reaction. But Olivia is quicker than I give her credit for—she catches it mid-air and dramatically fluffs it, holding it up like a prize.

“Oh, come on, you’re the one who was making the ‘good mistake’ here,” she teases, her voice light and full of affection. “At least let me have my fun with this. It’s better than our situationship being a bad idea.” I laugh despite myself, the weight of everything that’s been hanging over us feeling a little less heavy.

“You’re ridiculous,” I say, though I can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes me. The mood between us is lighter now, the tension from before eased with our shared laughter.

“Thank God for that,” Olivia replies, her voice a little breathless, clearly relieved. “You’re finally smiling. You deserve happiness, Addison. You deserve to be able to breathe.” I grin, but the smile fades a little as I think about what we just said—about what we’re both afraid of, what we might lose in all this. But for now, I let it go. We both need this lightness, this moment of humor, before everything gets too real again.

“You’re lucky I’m still here,” I say, teasing, but there’s something a little softer underneath it. Not realizing how it sounds. Of course she’s lucky I’m still here. I’m lucky I’m still here, that I haven’t died as a result of Ethan’s hands. Olivia gives me a small smile, her eyes warming.

“Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she says, her voice low, full of something unspoken that hangs in the air between us, but I don’t want to overthink it right now. We’ve got time for that later. For now, we have this—this ridiculous, imperfect, beautiful moment. Just a few brief moments of happiness, trust, and love.

Chapter 5: You Matter To Me- Chapter 4

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OLIVIA’s POINT OF VIEW:

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“I don’t want to go home,” she whispers again, voice barely audible above the quiet hum of the engine. The words claw at something inside me. I hear them too clearly. Not just with my ears…but with every inch of me trained to listen for what’s underneath. Pain. Fear. Defeat.

I keep both hands on the steering wheel, white-knuckled and steady, like I’m holding the line between her and the rest of the world. My body is still. But inside, I’m burning. Don’t take this personally. Keep the walls up. Keep it clean. But the truth is, there’s nothing clean about any of this. There never is, not when it’s someone you care about. And I do. God, I do.

We're tucked deep into the corner of the hospital lot. Staff-only zone. I let her use her badge to swipe us through, because it gave her some sense of control. I gave it to her. It's the only thing I could give. She’s staring out the window like she’s trying to disappear into the reflection. I watch her fingers brush the edge of the cast on her ankle…slow, methodical, almost like she's trying to rub herself awake from a nightmare. The bruises are darker now than they were a few hours ago. The swelling around the cast is still there. So is the pain in her voice.

“I just… I wanted to talk,” she murmurs, eyes still fixed on nothing. Her voice breaks on the word wanted, like it costs her something just to need. I turn my head, just slightly. Enough to watch her, but not crowd her.

“Don’t you want to sleep?” I ask, even though I know the answer. I don’t say it as a cop. I say it as someone who’s laid awake at three a.m., listening for the sound of danger that doesn’t come until it does. She laughs, but it’s hollow. A sound I’ve heard too many times in too many interviews.

“Do you really think I’m going to be sleeping once he gets home?” The muscles in my shoulders tighten, slow and involuntary. I don’t say his name. I won’t give him that dignity. But his presence is everywhere…on her skin, in her posture, stitched into the silences between her words. “Even when it’s quiet,” she says, “it’s not quiet. Every creak of the floorboards. Every sound of the front door. I can’t breathe when I know he’s on his way back.” She finally looks at me, and I feel it like a jolt. Her eyes are raw and open, too open. I want to wrap her in something warm, thick, safe…bulletproof, if I could. But all I have is my voice.

“You’re safe here,” I say, gently. She nods, barely. But I can tell it’s not the kind of nod that means belief. It’s the kind that means please don’t ask me to explain. She shifts, and it pulls at her injury…she winces. Instinctively, my hand shoots out to steady her, my palm pressing lightly to her thigh. Too long. I should move. I don’t. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t want to go home,” she says again, and this time the words carry something new. Something softer. Something that cracks. “Can we just sit? For a little while?” I nod.

“We can sit as long as you want.” I say it like a promise. I mean it like an oath. Time stretches. The car becomes a cocoon of quiet tension, until…Her voice breaks it.

“How am I supposed to do this with a broken ankle?” she whispers. Her words are trembling, shaky at the edges. Like she's afraid saying it will make it real. I don’t move. I don’t speak. This is the moment. This is the edge victims teeter on. I’ve seen it too many times. The knowing, the wanting…and the terror that comes with change.

“Do what?” I ask, careful as if I don’t know.

“Leave him.” It hits me like a sucker punch. She said it. My breath catches for a beat. She said it, but does she mean it? How many times has she said something like this in the past, that she’d leave him, that she wanted to leave and changed her mind last minute because in her eyes it wasn’t safe?

“I have a broken ankle, Olivia,” she continues. “How will I leave him like this? How will I run if I need to? How will I take care of my girls?” Her words are ice and fire. Logic and desperation. Survival. I turn to her. Full body. Full weight.

“You want to leave,” I say. Not a question. She stammers.

“I…” I lean in, but not physically. Vocally. Emotionally. I shift into the part of myself that lives in interview rooms, that knows how to hold truth up to the light.

“Addison, look at me.” And she does.

“You said it yourself. He hurt you. In front of your children. He’s not just a bad husband, he’s dangerous. And now you’re sitting in this car with a cast on your leg because he escalated and you broke your own foot to get a moment of respite. So yes…now is when you leave.” She swallows hard. Her fear is a living thing in the space between us.

“But I can’t even walk.”

“You don’t need to walk,” I tell her. “You have me. You have a phone. You have your children, and if we go back to the hospital, we could make a police statement. You could give the statement you said you would. A rape kit. Bruise documentation. We can get the rest. A restraining order. Emergency custody. He will not touch you again.” And then…I see it. In her eyes. The smallest shift. Hope. It terrifies her more than anything. And I get it. Because hope means you have something to lose. I don’t reach for her again. Not yet. I just let her sit in that space, in that stillness, in the place where choice lives. “You don’t have to do everything tonight,” I say, softer now. “You just have to take the next step.” She exhales, slow. And I think…maybe…she might. My voice is calm. Fierce. Like I’m talking a victim through the first steps of reclaiming their life…and I guess I am.  Only this time, the victim is Addison. And I’m the one saying the words.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” I ask, falling into the rhythm I know by heart. The rhythm that’s saved lives. My voice stays even, anchored. I need her to feel that anchor, even if I’m holding it underwater. “A safe place, somewhere he doesn’t know about?” She doesn’t look at me at first. She stares out the windshield, her jaw clenched like she’s trying to bite down the chaos inside her.

“I could get a hotel room” she says, almost too casual.

“Good,” I say. I keep it sharp, clean. Like we’re just going through logistics. Like this isn’t the moment her entire life is turning inside out. “Then that’s where we start. One night. Two. Long enough to breathe, long enough to figure out the next steps. You don’t have to do all of it tonight. But you do have to decide.” I hear it before I see it. The way her breath trembles. The slight hitch in her throat. The rapid blink. Her hands clench in her lap, and I can tell they’re cold…I've held those hands before. I know what they feel like warm.

“I want out,” she says, and the words are soft, but they pierce through me. “God, Olivia…I want out.” It’s the crack in the wall. The shift. The sound of a soul stepping forward from the shadows. I lean in a little, my voice softer now. I let myself be the Olivia she knows. Not the detective. Not the badge. The woman who held her hand in labor. The woman who rubbed circles into her back when she cried herself into sleep on my shoulder. The one who would walk through fire for her, and maybe already has.

“I know you do,” I say gently. “So let’s get you out. You don’t have to run. You just have to say yes.” She turns toward me, and for the briefest second, her eyes are wide and almost childlike. Fragile. I reach out…slow and deliberate…and my fingers brush hers. There’s a spark. A quiet certainty. She squeezes back. And it nearly undoes me. Because in that touch, I feel it: not just fear, but something alive underneath it. A flicker of will. A single gasp of light inside the darkness she’s been living in for so long. And for the first time in too long, I think…maybe…she’s going to be okay. Maybe we both are. But then…I can almost see the gears shifting as she changes her mind.

“I want to say yes.” She says it like it’s breaking her open. And I feel it crack through me, too. “God, it’s right there,” she whispers, her voice trembling, “on the tip of my tongue.” I don’t rush her. I’ve been here before, with other women in other cars, other hospitals, other nights that felt like this…heavy and holy and terrifying. I know what comes next. I feel it like a change in the air. “But…” she breathes. And I brace. Her voice wavers. “Yes means running. It means hiding. It means dragging my daughters out of their beds and into some hotel room and telling them that everything they’ve ever known is gone. It means turning him into a monster in their eyes. And it means… it means I’m the reason it all changed.” Her fingers begin to tremble in mine. “It means war,” she finishes, and her voice folds in on itself.

I don’t let go. I don’t flinch. I hold tighter. Because I knew this was coming. I saw it in her eyes the moment she said the word hotel. Hope and fear locked in a chokehold. I run my thumb gently across her knuckles. Slow, grounding strokes. I memorize every ridge of her hand…the tiny callus beneath her ring finger, the edge of a scar I don’t think she’s ever told me the story of.

“Talk to me,” I say. My voice is low. Patient. The kind of voice I use when coaxing a woman off a ledge…sometimes literal, sometimes emotional. “Tell me what’s stopping you.” Her eyes fall from mine like shutters slamming closed. And then, quietly, almost reverently…

“He’ll find me.” Her voice is pure terror. A raw nerve. “No matter where I go. No matter what I do, he will find me.” I open my mouth to respond, but she shakes her head, hard. And now there are tears glistening at the edge of her lashes, and she’s fighting them like her life depends on it. “You don’t understand,” she whispers. “You haven’t seen what he’s like when he’s really angry. When he thinks something is his and he’s losing control. You haven’t seen that rage. I have.”

Her voice is shaking. But it doesn’t falter. Because she’s telling the truth now. And even if it’s soaked in fear, it’s hers. I sit with her in the silence that follows. Because I do understand. Maybe not in the way she means. But I’ve walked crime scenes soaked in that rage. I’ve held women whose bones told stories their mouths never could. I’ve pulled children out of homes where monsters wore wedding bands and designer suits. And right now, there’s nothing I can say that will make her believe she’s safe. But I stay. And I hold her hand like it’s a lifeline. Because right now, it is. Her voice cracks…barely a whisper but it slices through the quiet like a shard of glass.

“It’s not about me anymore,” she says, eyes fixed on the floor of the car. “We already know he’s going to kill me. We don’t know when, but we know it is going to happen. We have to shift focus. Have to keep the girls safe, Olivia.” I swallow the lump in my throat. The words land heavier than any bruise I’ve seen on this job. This isn’t just fear. This is certainty. It’s exhaustion and despair stitched into every syllable.

“Addison…” I say softly, and my voice hardens just a little, because I can’t let her slip away…not now. “I can protect you.” Her laugh is brittle, a sound I hate because it’s so full of hopelessness.

“I’ve seen him destroy things just to prove a point,” she breathes out, and I flinch at the weight behind those words. “Smash glass into the floor while Emilia and Arabella were napping in the next room. Shove me so hard I hit my head and saw stars…all because I didn’t answer a text fast enough earlier in the day.” Her breath catches and I know this memory is raw, alive, bleeding from a wound I’ve never touched but can feel deep in my bones. “And that was when I wasn’t even trying to leave.” Her words pour out now, urgent, raw, unfiltered. The floodgates have opened and I’m here, steady, holding the bucket beneath.

“If I take the girls and go, he’ll follow us,” she says, voice cracking. “If he allows me to live he’ll drag me through court, or worse. Twist everything into lies…say I’m unstable, that I’m abusing the girls, that I’m trying to alienate him. Make it impossible to keep them safe.” She lowers her gaze, voice fragile as a bird’s wing. “He’ll take them from me. They’ll grow up in that house without me, without protection…”

That’s the truth I see in her eyes. The real terror. Not the bruises or the broken ankle or the silent nights begging for the front door to stay closed. It’s losing her daughters. Losing them because she tried…too late. I shift closer, careful, like I’m moving through water, gentle and slow so I don’t scare her off. My hand rises, trembling only a little, and I touch her cheek. Lift her face until she looks at me.

“You’re not alone,” I say…my detective voice, calm and unshakable. “You’re not the first woman who’s said those exact words to me. And I’m telling you…you can win this.” I see the flicker of doubt flame to life in her eyes. “You are not unstable, you are a mother fighting for her babies, Addison, but they need you, alive.” Her lips tremble. The tears come slow and silent…hot rivers running down her cheeks, soaking into the collar of her coat.

“But what if it’s not enough?” she whispers. I lean in closer until she can smell me…coffee, peppermint, the faint trace of vanilla soap.

“Then we fight anyway,” I breathe, voice barely more than a whisper. “Because they’re worth it. You’re worth it. And I’ll stand beside you every step. You deserve a life that doesn’t hurt, Addison.” I press my forehead to hers. It’s the smallest gesture but it feels like a lifeline. She breaks…quiet, not messy…just the slow unraveling of someone who’s held it together too damn long. “Come home with me,” I say, voice low and certain, the weight of every unsaid promise resting in the words. My hand tightens around hers, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on her skin. She breathes me in. And for a moment, she just exists in this small bubble of warmth I’m trying to create. Then, so quietly it almost slips past me…

“No,” she murmurs. It breaks something inside me. “Don’t you think he’ll look there first?” she asks, voice barely audible. I don’t pull away. My jaw sets. The detective comes forward.

“You have more protection with me than on your own,” I say, tone sharpening like steel sheathed in velvet. “Addison, you have a broken ankle. A preschooler. A newborn. And a nanny who, no offense, is not trained for violent confrontations. I am.”  My words settle around her like a slow burn. She’s not wrong. She’s not just exhausted. She’s exposed. And it’s humiliating for her to admit…she’s powerless in ways I’m not.

“I can’t let him drag the girls into that nightmare,” she whispers, voice catching. “If I run to you…and he finds me there….what then? What if it makes me look reckless in court? What if it puts you in danger? Puts your child in danger Olivia…”

“You let me worry about that,” I say. I brush a tear from her cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of her mouth. The tenderness in my touch leaves her breathless. I want her to fall into me. I want to be her refuge…the safe harbor in a storm too fierce to fight alone.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she says, voice raw. “I don’t want the girls to disrupt everything. Noah… Olivia…I can’t let you put your son in danger.”

“I’m not putting him in danger. Noah adores your girls,” I say gently, a half-smile softening the hardness in my voice. “My apartment has locks on every door. Cameras. Security. You’ll be safe. And if anything happens…I’m trained for it. You know that.” And I mean every word. Because I’m here. Because I won’t let her fall. I watch her barely nod, the faintest movement against the heavy silence in the car. The cast on her ankle catches the dim light, its rough edges itching against her skin. I know the pain runs deeper than the throbbing limb …the ache that no plaster or medication can soothe.

I should have acted sooner. Emilia’s tiny voice echoes in my mind, on the night her baby sister was born. “Is this another something we’re not supposed to tell Daddy about?” I can see it in Addison’s eyes… the weight of the whispered secrets, of teaching her daughter to take the baby and hide, the unbearable burden of protecting the children from the worst of their father.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits, voice cracking like a brittle thread unraveling. “Not really. Not with them watching me. Not when I still wake up thinking maybe I just imagined it all… maybe I’m the problem. That I can do better, make him love me.” Her confession hits me harder than any scream or sob. That unbearable doubt, the kind that gnaws at battered souls, telling them they’re the ones broken, not the ones who hurt them. My fingers move without thought, slipping under her chin to lift it gently. My eyes lock onto hers, fierce and steady … the kind of gaze I’ve learned to wield over years of this work, to steady the frightened and the broken.

“You are not the problem,” I tell her, voice calm but fierce, every word a promise and a command. “You’re the solution. You’re their mother. And you already know how to do this…because you are doing it. Right now.”

I watch the muscles in her throat tighten as she blinks back the tears she’s been holding in like a dam about to burst. I want to say yes …yes to the safety, to the peace I know she’s desperate for. I want to hold her in the quiet warmth of my home, watch her daughters curl up without fear, hear her laugh without the tremble of pain beneath it. I want her safe. So when she nods, just a little, finally, just a whisper on her lips,  I let myself breathe, just a little, thinking it’s going to be okay.

“Okay,” I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Our foreheads rest together for a moment, breaths mingling in the charged silence between us. Not a kiss, no, but something just as intimate … the fragile closeness of two souls trying to find calm in a violent world.

“I’ll make the calls,” I murmur. “You just breathe. We’ve got this.”

“I’m scared.” I feel it … that crack in her armor, the weight of every sleepless night and whispered threat and broken promise. Her fingers dig into her coat like she’s trying to hold herself together, nails biting into her palms. I don’t hesitate. I can’t.

“I’m sending my partner to your house,” I say, voice low but commanding. “Right now. He’ll bring the nanny and the children safely. You don’t have to go back there. Not tonight. Not ever.” My words fly out fast…precise and urgent like I’m defusing a bomb. This isn’t a case file or a report…it’s her life on the line. Her daughters’ lives.

“No…” Panic floods her face. She reaches for me, fingers curling around the sleeve of my jacket with desperate urgency. “No, no, no. Olivia….I don’t want to do this. Please.”   I stop mid-dial, phone trembling in my hand. My eyes lock with hers…wide, scared, but refusing to give in.

“Addison,” I say firmly, my voice softening but never letting go. She shakes her head, breath ragged, the panic swelling like a tidal wave ready to crash.

“He’ll know. Even though he’s at work… he’ll know… he watches the security footage. He’ll see the lights, the car. He’ll know it was me. He’ll take them from me…say I kidnapped them…say I’m unstable…he’ll…he’ll…I can’t go I can’t do it.”

“Addie,” I interrupt, using the name I only ever whisper when she’s unraveling, “Look at me.” She does. And it’s like falling into the eye of the storm…calm and fierce all at once. No fear. Only a promise burning quiet and furious in my gaze.

“Come with me. I’ll keep you safe.” I say, voice rough with emotion but steady as a rock. “You did not do this. He did.” Tears spill freely down her cheeks, but she doesn’t wipe them away. She’s frozen in place, fragile and real.

“But what if this makes everything worse?” she whispers, the terror bleeding through every word. “What if this is the moment everything breaks?” I cup her face with trembling hands, so gentle it feels like a prayer. My fingers are warm against her cold skin…soft, steady…everything the world hasn’t been for her lately.

“This isn’t the moment everything breaks,” I whisper back. “This is the moment it starts to heal.” I press the call button. And all I can do is hold her. Because sometimes, that’s the only thing you can do to survive the storm.

“Take my children.” Her voice is threadbare. Torn from somewhere deep in her chest, ripped raw and left bleeding between us. “Keep them safe,” she says, and I feel the crack split through the middle of me. “I give consent for stabler to enter the home, take them somewhere safe, but… please, let me go back, Olivia. Please.”

I freeze. The phone’s still pressed to my ear, Stabler’s voice low and distant on the other end, asking for confirmation. Asking what the hell is going on. I don’t answer. I can’t. My thumb hovers above the screen like I’ve forgotten how to move. I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Something inside me fractures when I look at her…this woman I’ve held, this woman I’ve treated like glass and grit and sacred ground all in the same breath. She’s begging me to let her walk back into a nightmare. She’s asking me to save her children by sacrificing her. I don’t hear fear in her voice, not for herself. Only for them. And that’s somehow worse.

“Addison.” I say her name like it’s the only word I know, carefully, slowly. Like she’s teetering on the edge of something high and final. Maybe she is. “No.”

“I need you to listen to me,” she says, and her voice starts to shake, climbing fast toward panic. Her fingers clench in her coat, in her lap, like she’s trying to anchor herself to something before she’s swept away. “If I disappear, if I don’t come home, he’ll know. He’ll come looking. He’ll hunt me down. But if I go back…if I just… keep the routine…it’ll buy us time. I’ll tell him I have the flu, that the nanny has the kids somewhere else to avoid them getting sick. He won’t take it out on them if I’m there. If he thinks it’s still me. He won’t come after them Olivia.”

“Stop.” My voice slices through hers, sharp and immediate. I reach across the console, take her hand…not to hold her down, not to stop her, just to hold. “You think you’re protecting them. But going back there won’t protect anyone. Not them. Not you. Not even him.”

“I don’t care about him…”

“Yes, you do.” I don’t flinch. I don’t let her look away. “Not like you used to. Not like love. But trauma doesn’t let go that easy. It tricks you into thinking the pain is safer than the unknown. That surviving it is the same as surviving him.” She pulls in a breath like she’s drowning. Her eyes are glassy, haunted, full of that awful knowing I see in too many victims…women who’ve convinced themselves they can absorb the blows to keep everyone else standing.

“But if I stay gone… he’ll lose it,” she whispers. “You don’t know what he’s like when he really loses it.”

“I do,” I say, voice steady and low, but burning beneath every word. “I’ve seen it, Addison. On bodies. On walls. On children’s faces. And I swear to you, he is never going to touch you again. I swear to God, I won’t let it happen. I just need you to come with me.”

She shudders. Her face crumples, and the first sob slips out of her like a wound torn open. She’s crying now…full-bodied, aching sobs she’s kept locked in a vault for years. It shatters me. I pull her into my arms without hesitation. I wrap myself around her like armor. My chin rests on the crown of her head. My hand cups the back of her neck. She’s so small like this. So soft. So scared.

“He already has, lost it…” I whisper into her hair. “Every time he raised his voice in front of them. Every time they saw you flinch. Every time you told them to lie to protect him. You are not protecting them by bleeding quietly.” Her sobs grow harder. Her whole body trembles against mine, and all I can do is hold her together with my hands because God knows she can’t do it alone anymore. “You’re allowed to save yourself,” I murmur, rocking her just enough to steady her breathing. “You don’t have to be the one who takes the hits anymore.” She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes swollen and red and wrecked.

“But what if he comes for me?” she breathes, and the sound of it shreds me.

Her voice is barely audible, like she’s asking the wind for an answer…like she already knows there isn’t one. Like she’s already surrendered to the inevitability of it, like she’s accepted this as her fate. And I can’t let that stand. I tighten my grip on her hand…firm, unwavering, a lifeline in flesh and bone. I don’t care how terrified she is. I don’t care what he’s done. She is not going to die by inches while I stand by and watch.

“Then he’ll have to go through me,” I say. And I mean it. The words aren’t for comfort. They’re not soft. They’re not poetic. They’re a goddamn promise. I watch her eyes change…just slightly. The smallest flicker of belief flashes across her face like sunlight cracking through cloud cover. It’s the first time I think she might actually believe I’m capable of stopping him. That she isn’t alone. That this ends differently than she imagined. But then…

“No…” She says it so quietly I almost miss it. Her head shakes, not in panic now, but with something deeper. Heavier. Grief. Resignation. Love.

“I want you out of this,” she whispers, and something in me lurches. Her fingers slip from mine, not completely, just enough for me to feel the chill of it. Like she’s preparing to let go. Like she’s already begun the work of disappearing from me.

“Take me home,” she says, and I feel the words drive straight into the center of me. “If he goes through you… that means he’s going through the girls, too. They’ve suffered enough.”

Her logic is twisted and self-sacrificing, the kind that only makes sense inside the mind of a battered woman…of a mother who has learned that her body is a shield, and pain is the price of peace. My throat tightens. I sit there, staring at her, trying to stay still, trying not to reach for her again. Because if I do, I’ll hold on too tight. I’ll beg her. I’ll break. And this is not about me.

“You think I can’t handle him,” I say quietly, not accusing…just searching. “You think I’ll fold if he comes for you.”

“No,” she says immediately. Her eyes find mine again. “I think you’ll fight. I think you’ll win. And I think that will destroy something inside you.” Her voice trembles, but her conviction doesn’t.

“I don’t want to be the reason Noah loses his mother. I don’t want my girls to grow up thinking their safety came at the cost... Olivia…he’ll come hard. And he won’t care who’s standing between us. This is too dangerous. I need someone to be there for the girls. Noah needs you.” A long silence stretches between us. The air is thick, like we’re both underwater now, sinking in different directions. And God, I wish I could make her see what I see. I don’t care what it costs me. I don’t care what line I have to cross. I’d burn every bridge between me and the badge if it meant her daughters never had to flinch at the sound of a key in a lock again.

“I’m not afraid of him,” I say, low and sharp.

“I am,” she whispers.

And it’s the most honest thing she’s said all night. She turns away then, just slightly, like she can’t bear to look at me. Like the pain of imagining me hurt because of her is worse than anything he’s ever done. And I can’t take it. I reach out, gently, sliding my hand back over hers. Not tight. Not forceful. Just enough to let her feel it…that I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere. That no matter how many ways she tries to protect me, I’m choosing to stay.

“You don’t have to protect me,” I say. “That’s not your job.”

“But it’s the only thing I still know how to do,” she murmurs. “Give myself up. Trade my safety for theirs. For yours. I’m who he wants, Olivia…”

“No,” I tell her. “Not anymore.” She finally looks at me again, and there’s so much in her face…fear, guilt, longing, exhaustion. But beneath it all, I see something starting to shift. Something tender and bruised, struggling to rise. Hope. Real, terrifying hope.

“I’m not walking away from this,” I whisper. “I’m not walking away from you.” And this time, she doesn’t argue. She just lets herself cry. Quietly. Unapologetically. In the dark of my car, in the warmth of my hands. And I let her. Because for the first time, she’s not crying alone. I don’t react. Not right away. I can’t. I need a second to figure out if I even heard her right. She keeps going.

“The girls will be safe with you,” she says softly. “Take them. Keep them safe. Use my bank card. It’s everything I have…he doesn’t know about it. Just… take care of them, Olivia.” Her voice breaks. And then comes the part that nearly destroys me. “And then go home. Go home, Liv. Let this go. Let me go.”

I feel the words hit me in the chest like an impact. Like a loss I haven’t let myself consider until this second. Like she’s already writing her own ending. The breath leaves me slow and sharp. I don’t move. I don’t blink. I just feel it unravel in me. I hear Elliot still talking on the line, but I tune him out. All I can focus on is the storm behind my eyes and the way she’s asking me to become her executioner in the softest voice I’ve ever heard.

“You want me to take your children,” I say, gravel low in my throat. “And just leave you there. With him.” She nods.

“Addison.” My voice is a warning, a plea, a breaking point. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’m thinking clearly for the first time in weeks,” she says, and I hear the conviction in it. The heartbreak. “He won’t hurt them if I’m there. He only hurts me. That’s the deal I made when I said ‘I do.’ I’ll keep making it. For them. He gets what he wants, and so do I.”

“No,” I say, flat and certain. The word is law now. “No, you won’t.”

“You don’t get to make that decision…”

“The hell I don’t,” I bite out, the sharpness returning like steel under my skin. “You think I’m going pick your kids up like a babysitter and then watch them while the woman I…” I catch myself. The truth lodges in my throat, too big, too raw. “…while the woman I care about walks back into that house like she’s not already halfway dead inside?”

“I’m asking you to let me choose,” she whispers.

“And I’m choosing not to let you die.” It stops her cold. She blinks at me, stunned, as if no one’s ever said that to her before. Not like this. Not with the weight of truth behind it. Not with every part of themselves ready to make good on it. I squeeze her hand tighter.

“You’re not going back there,” I say, barely more than a whisper. “Not tonight. Not ever.” And I mean it. Even if I have to drag her away myself.

“No. You’re going to take me home.” She means it. I see it in the set of her jaw, the wild, cornered glint in her eyes, the tremble that doesn’t quite reach her voice but reverberates through the way she holds herself…tight, rigid, like if she loosens even a little, she’ll crumble. This isn’t just fear. This is resolve. The kind that makes my stomach twist, because I know what it’s rooted in. This isn’t about protocol anymore. It’s not about orders or paperwork or what the department will say. This isn’t just about keeping someone safe. It’s about her. It’s about me. It’s about us. She turns away from me then, curling back toward the window, and I watch the reflection of her face shimmer faintly in the glass. Tear tracks silver her cheeks in the streetlight’s soft glow. The rawness in her voice could tear open stone.

“He’ll kill me if I leave,” she whispers. It guts me. Every instinct I have…detective, woman, mother, hers…screams at me to do something, to pull her out of this spiral, to drag her into the light. I lean forward, carefully, until my forehead rests against the side of hers. Not possessive. Not persuasive. Just there. Her warmth sears into me. I speak low and steady, because I’ve done this before. Talked women back from ledges that had no height but infinite gravity. Only this time, the woman is her, and I can feel the cliff edge under my own feet, too.

“He’ll kill you if you stay, Addie.” She squeezes her eyes shut. Her lashes clump with tears.

“But if I stay…” Her voice is a ragged breath. “The girls get to keep their mother just a little longer. You can bring them to the park. I can see them…or…or the precinct.” God. That’s the lie she’s been living inside of. The one I hear from victims who’ve convinced themselves that dying slow in silence is love. That swallowing fear daily is protection. That existing inside abuse is somehow a lesser evil than the unknown.

“No,” I whisper, and I reach up with aching tenderness, brushing a tear from her cheek with the back of my knuckle. Her skin is warm and wet, soft and trembling beneath my touch. “If you leave,” I murmur, firmer now, “they get to keep her forever.” She doesn’t respond. She just breathes like she’s unraveling in silence. I let the pause stretch…let her feel the weight of the next thing I say as I pull back just enough to see her eyes again.

“I’m not taking you back,” I say, voice steady. “I’m taking you home. With me, at least for tonight.” Her eyes dart to mine, wide, already glossy with fresh tears. “And if I have to arrest you to do it,” I add, jaw tightening, “I swear to God…I will.” Her breath hitches. And something flickers in her. Not defiance. Not anger. Something that scares me more. Hope. Resigned hope.

“You can’t take me against my will, Olivia,” she says softly.

The words fall between us like a stone into deep water. They don’t echo. They just sink. She’s right. And I hate it. I go still. Every breath I’m holding in my lungs tightens, threatens to fracture something inside me. I don’t flinch. I don’t plead. I just look at her. I let her see it…the war inside me. The one I’ve been losing since the moment I saw her lying in that hospital bed, pretending like her broken ankle was a fluke and not a symptom of something systemic, calculated, evil.

“I know,” I say quietly. “You’re right. I can’t.” And I hate how much that costs me to admit. I shift just enough to give her space, but I won’t retreat. I won’t abandon her. She thinks this is over…but we’re still in the fire. She just hasn’t noticed I’ve been burning with her from the start.

“You’re asking me to walk away,” I continue, and now I can’t stop the rasp in my throat, the edge slicing through every word. “To give you permission to drop off your daughters like dry cleaning and pretend I didn’t see you bruised and bleeding. Pretend you didn’t sob into my shoulder, beg me not to let them go back to him. You want me to forget all of that?” She doesn’t answer. So I keep going. “You’re asking me to respect this,” I say, the word sharp in my mouth. “But I respect you, Addison. I just can’t respect the choice to walk back into the arms of the man who’s destroying you one bone, one bruise, one lie at a time.” She looks away again, and I know it’s because she knows. Deep down, she knows I’m right. But that’s the thing about trauma…it tells you that staying is safer, that survival means silence, that hope is dangerous.

“I need to go back,” she whispers. “If I disappear… he’ll come for them. He’ll show up at your place. He’ll find us. You think you can protect them, but you can’t protect everyone.” I nod once. Slow. Controlled. Then I ask the question I never want to ask anyone, let alone her.

“Do you want to die?” She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. Her silence is the answer. I reach for her gently, tilt her face up to mine. She resists at first, then gives in…and when our eyes meet, I hold her there. I need her to hear this. “Don’t call this protection,” I say. “Don’t dress it up in love or sacrifice or motherhood. I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen this exact look on other women’s faces. And I’ve buried more of them than I can count.” Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but nothing comes out. “This isn’t survival, Addison,” I say, and my voice softens now, low and intimate. “This is surrender. And you don’t get to lie to me and call that bravery.” The air goes still. Then, finally, I whisper the truth she’s been trying to deny: “I know safer doesn’t look like him.” She blinks, and tears roll silently down her cheeks. But she doesn’t argue anymore. And I think, maybe, just maybe…something inside her starts to believe me.

And that… God, that breaks something in me. Because she’s right. Because I don’t have anything left to throw back at her…not logic, not training, not laws. Because all I’m doing now is watching a woman I love bleed out emotionally right in front of me, convinced the only way to survive is to walk herself back into a fire. Because I’m still in love with a life that never existed.

I don’t know when it started, before the children, before the bruises I wasn’t supposed to see. Before she even had a name in my mind. All those days crossing paths in the hospital corridor when I had to take a victim in…I just knew there was a light in her, and I wanted to be near it. And now I’m watching that light dim under the weight of someone else’s rage, and I feel powerless.

“I won’t stay,” she says again, but her voice is softer this time. Smaller. Like even she knows she’s not convinced. “You can’t make me stay.”

“No,” I say, barely breathing. “But I can beg you to.”

And I do. Not with words. Just with my eyes, open and pleading. Just with the way I leave my hand resting near hers…not holding, not pushing…just offering. Just with the way I don’t leave. Even when everything in me is screaming. Her chin lifts. Defiant. Brave in all the wrong ways.

“If you don’t take me home…” she says, and her voice wobbles like a fault line. “I’ll walk.” My chest seizes.

“Addison.”

“I mean it,” she bites out, reaching for the door handle with a trembling hand. “You won’t drive me? Fine. I’ll get there myself.”

“You can’t even stand.” The words fly out, sharp and jagged, my tone suddenly harsher than I mean. I hear it fray. Hear the edge I’ve been fighting all night. She freezes for half a heartbeat…then grips the handle tighter.

“I’ll crawl if I have to.”

I swear under my breath, low and bitter. My palm slams against the steering wheel before I can stop myself. The crack of it cuts through the car like a whip. She flinches. It’s small…barely a twitch…but it guts me. Because I’ve seen her flinch like that before. And it wasn’t with me.

“Addie…” I breathe, the name crumbling in my mouth. I reach for her again, slower this time. “What are you doing?” She turns to face me, and the look in her eyes is already a memory. I’ve seen it on too many faces…women who’ve decided that survival means surrender.

“I need you to understand, I’m trying to make you understand.” she whispers, so quietly I can barely hear her over the blood pounding in my ears. “You think I’m being stubborn. That I’m trying to throw my life away. But this…this is survival. If I don’t go back, he’ll come for them. He’ll make noise. File motions. Twist everything. And they’ll wind up in his custody without me there to stop it.” Her voice breaks on that last word. It doesn’t shatter…it splinters. Like glass under pressure. “But if I go back…” she continues, eyes unfocused now. “If I smile. If I cook dinner. If I say sorry for being out too long…then maybe I get a few more days. Just a little more time to figure it out.” I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the ache that’s climbing up my throat. It’s all too familiar. I’ve sat with too many women in precinct chairs, on ER gurneys, in shelters. I’ve heard this litany in a hundred different voices.

“You think I haven’t heard this before?” I ask, and my voice is soft now. Hollow. “You think you’re the first person who’s told me they’ll survive if they just play the part? That if they’re perfect enough, he won’t get worse?” I open my eyes again. Meet hers.

“You have a cast on your leg, Addison.” I say it like a verdict. “He already got worse.” And this time, she doesn’t argue. She looks down, lips parting slightly, like she’s trying to inhale through a wound.

“I know,” she whispers. “But I don’t know how to be brave the way you are.” I reach for her again. My fingers brush over hers, firm but careful.

“You don’t have to be brave, I’m not brave, Addison.” I tell her, voice full of every ounce of love I’m not supposed to say out loud. “You just have to let me help you. Let me protect you. Just this once.”  She closes her eyes. And I watch it…her armor fracture again.

“I keep thinking about the sound it made,” she murmurs. “My ankle. When it snapped…It was loud. Like something snapping inside ice.” I grip her hand tighter, my other hand reaching for her jaw, trying to hold her in this moment, trying to keep her anchored to me. “He didn’t even do it… I did it.”

“You won’t always be there,” she whispers. “Eventually… eventually, you’ll let go. And when you do…”

“I won’t,” I say before she can finish. My voice is steel now. Unshakable. “I won’t let go. Not until I know you’re safe. Not until he can’t get near you. Not until you believe you deserve better. And not until that ankle is healed enough for you to stand on it and walk away without looking back.” Something trembles in her lips. A breath. Almost a laugh. She glances down at the cast again, her fingers trailing over the edge like it holds all the answers. And then she whispers, brokenly, a single sentence that fractures me open….

“I’ve forgotten what it feels like to not be afraid.” And I know exactly what I’ll say next.

I feel it the second she says it…that tiny break in her voice, the way her shoulders drop.  It guts me. Like a blade slipping right between my ribs. And I don’t even try to hide it. I just sit there and let the silence hold both of us, heavy and full of everything we haven’t said. My breath catches in my throat. Because I know. God, I know. And not as a detective. Not from training. From experience. I reach for her again, slowly this time, like I’m approaching a wounded animal. Not because I think she’ll lash out…but because she’s so raw, so cracked open, and I don’t want to be another person who handles her like she’s already broken. My fingers slip under her chin, and I lift her face to mine. I look into her eyes…those wide, glassy, devastated eyes…and I let her see me. Not the badge. Not the job. Me.

“I remember,” I whisper, and my voice falters…not from uncertainty, but from the weight of everything behind it. “I remember what it’s like to count your breaths just to get through the morning. To lie there in bed and listen…really listen…because the sound of footsteps in the hallway might mean it’s time to run, or it might mean you stay still and hope she doesn’t notice you.” Addison goes still beside me. Not frozen with fear…just listening with the kind of silence that tells me she knows. She feels it.

“I remember brushing my teeth with one hand,” I continue, the words trembling from someplace deep, “and holding something sharp in the other. A key. A pin. Anything. Just in case.” My throat tightens, but I don’t stop. “I remember the smell of gin on her breath before I knew what gin was. I remember the sound of glass bottles being knocked over, the way her rage always came in waves…loud, messy, and mean. But what I remember most is how quiet the house was after. How I had to be the one to clean it up. Apologize to the neighbors. Pretend I didn’t hear the things she called me.” Addison’s eyes shine with tears she’s not even trying to hide anymore. I see her flinch at “she,” and I wonder if she thought abuse could only wear the face of a man.

“She never wanted me,” I say, lower now. “Not once. Not even for a second. Sometimes things were more manageable. She put on a show… but at the end of the day….I was the result of a rape she never recovered from, and she made sure I knew it. I wasn’t a daughter…I was a scar. A burden. A reminder. So I got good at disappearing. At managing her moods, hiding the bruises, cleaning the messes, telling myself that if I did everything right…just right enough…maybe she’d stop.” Addison covers her mouth. Her shoulders shake.

“I tried so hard to earn love from a woman who didn’t have any to give,” I whisper. “So don’t tell me I don’t understand. Don’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like to live in a house that wants to eat you alive.” I inhale through my nose. It burns, but I need her to hear this. All of it.

“People always think you survive by being brave. But sometimes survival is about endurance. It’s learning how to stay quiet. How to make yourself small. How to fold yourself into corners no one’s looking at. And even now…after all these years…I still have to remind myself I’m allowed to take up space.” Her tears fall freely now, and mine aren’t far behind. But I don’t reach for her yet. I let the silence wrap around us like truth. “No one can survive like that forever,” I say. “You think you’re strong for staying. But Addison, the strongest thing I ever did was leave.”

Finally, I reach for her hand. I don’t grip it. I just offer it…steady, open. I hold Addison’s hand in mine, feeling the tremble in her fingers, the fight she’s still barely holding together. And I realize…I have to tell her. Not the polished version. The real one. The one that still pulses under my skin after all these years. I hold Addison’s hand in mine, feeling the tremble in her fingers, the fight she’s still barely holding together. And I realize…I have to tell her. Not the polished version. The real one. The one that still pulses under my skin after all these years.

“This is why I do what I do,” I whisper, the words thick with old ache. “Why I went into Special Victims. Why I chose this fight.” She looks up at me, eyes wet, searching. “Because I was that child,” I say. “I was the little girl no one checked on. The one who went to school with bruises and didn’t say a word. The one who lied to teachers, to neighbors, to myself. And no one ever asked me why I flinched when the phone rang, or why I stayed so quiet when other kids laughed too loud.” My throat is tight now, but I keep going. “And my mother…she wasn’t a monster. She was broken. She was in pain. And she didn’t have anyone to pull her out of it. No one helped her. No one listened. She drank herself into silence, and when that wasn’t enough, she poured that silence into me.” Addison’s hand tightens in mine, just slightly. She’s listening. She hears me.

“I couldn’t save her,” I say, quieter now. “But maybe I can save someone else. Maybe I can stop another little girl from growing up thinking pain is normal. Maybe I can stop another mother from thinking survival means staying quiet until she disappears.” My eyes meet hers, unwavering. “That’s why I stayed in this job. That’s why I fight so goddamn hard. Because I know what it feels like to need someone and not have anyone show up.” I take a breath. It shakes on the way out. “And now I am the one who shows up.” Addison’s lips part. She’s crying again, but this time it’s different. Not just fear…something like recognition. Like hope. “I didn’t have an Olivia Benson,” I whisper. “But my job…my life…is about making sure other people do.” I squeeze her hand again, just enough to ground her. “And now you do.”

“Liv…” she breathes, her voice cracking, barely a sound. Her hand is still in mine, but it’s trembling now. “I didn’t know…”

“Not many do,” I say quietly, my voice barely a murmur over the hum of the engine. “I don’t talk about it. I learned early that if I said too much, people pulled away. Or looked at me different. Or… pitied me.” My gaze drops to our joined hands. My thumb traces gently over her knuckles, soothing, steady. She’s silent beside me, but I can feel it…that subtle shift in her breathing, the ripple of realization tightening her shoulders.

“I didn’t know,” she says again, softer this time, like she’s trying to understand how the woman sitting beside her…the one driving the getaway car, the one whispering safety like a prayer…was once just a girl hiding behind locked doors and bathroom cabinets too. I nod once.

“I know.” And for a second…for the briefest flicker of time…I think she’s about to say yes. I see it in her face, in the way her mouth opens like a gate about to fall. But instead…

“Liv,” she says again, and this time her tone shifts. Sharper. More resolved. “Take them.” My chest tightens. She pulls her hand away gently, but firmly, like she’s handing off a piece of herself. “Please,” she says. “Take Arabella and Emilia. Get them somewhere safe. I’ll stay. I’ll buy us time.” I shake my head instantly.

“Addison…no. I already told you, I will send Stabler for the girls, but this isn’t the way.” But she just keeps talking like I didn’t say a word. Like she has to say it before the courage slips away.

“And I told you…If I don’t go back, he’ll know. He’ll hunt for me. And when he doesn’t find me, he’ll go after them. The school. He’ll go to you. And I can’t…I won’t let him hurt them. Not even trying to get to me.” Her voice shakes, but her eyes are steady. Resigned. That scares me more than anything else.

“You’re talking like a shield,” I say. “Like that’s all you’re allowed to be. Like you’re not allowed to save yourself.” Her chin lifts, stubborn.

“I’m talking like a mother.” God, I’ve heard it before. From other women. From the ones who smile through bloody lips and say they fell. From the ones who beg me to keep their names out of it. From the ones who stare at me across the table and say he only hits me, never the kids. And now Addison. But Addison knows better. She knows too much. She’s seen too much. And still…she’s standing in that same crumbling doorway, trying to sacrifice herself like it’s noble.

“You asked me to take your girls,” I say, my voice rough now. “And I will… I will take them, you know I will, but then what? Watch while you bleed in silence somewhere behind locked doors?” She blinks fast. Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to. “They won’t just lose their father, Addison. They’ll lose you. Slowly. Quietly. In all the ways you think they won’t notice.” Her mouth twists, but I can see the cracks forming. The pieces shaking inside her. “You think you’re being brave,” I whisper. “But this isn’t bravery. This is surrender. And you don’t have to surrender anymore.” She closes her eyes, and for a long moment, she just breathes. Then her voice comes out…barely above a whisper.

“You survived. But I don’t know if I can.”  I reach out slowly, gently cupping her face with one hand. I let my thumb brush the tear from her cheek. My voice is steady, low, full of the truth I never got to hear when I needed it most.

“You can,” I say. “You already are. You’re sitting here, telling me you want your daughters to be safe. You’ve already survived more than anyone should have to. Now let yourself live, Addison. Not just breathe. Live. And I’m here. I haven’t gone anywhere. I made it out. And you can, too. You will. Because you’re not him. You’re better than that. And your girls…they deserve to grow up knowing what safe feels like.” She exhales. Broken. Torn. But still, she whispers,

“Take them. Please.” And I realize…she doesn’t think she deserves to be saved. So I lean in close, forehead to hers, breath to breath.

“I’m not leaving you,” I whisper. “Not tonight. Not like this. You are not disposable. You are not just a delivery system for your kids’ safety. You are their mother. Their whole world. And they need you.” Her body stills against mine. Then she pulls back…slow, deliberate, something shifting behind her eyes. The tears are gone now. Or maybe just buried. What’s left is something sharp. Icy. Resigned in that terrifying way only someone who’s already accepted her own funeral can be. She looks at me. Really looks at me. And for a second, I swear I don’t recognize her.

“Don’t worry,” she says, her voice like glass—smooth, reflective, and already broken. “I’ll make sure you do.” I blink.

“What?” She doesn’t flinch.

“I’ll make sure you leave,” she repeats, colder now. “Once I know they’re safe. Once Arabella and Emilia are with you, I’ll let you go.” Let me go. Like I’m the one clinging. Like I’m the one who can’t see straight. But it lands. God, it lands like a blow to the chest.

“Addison…” I whisper.

She turns her face toward the passenger window again, shoulders stiff. Her fingers twist tightly in the edge of her coat like she’s anchoring herself to something…anything…that isn’t me. And I get it. I get it more than I want to. Because that’s what I used to do. Push people away when I was too close to the edge. Hurt them first before they could leave. Before they could see what I looked like unravelling. Before they could see the truth of what it meant to be a child nobody wanted. A woman nobody protected.

I swallow the ache rising in my throat. My hands are still on the wheel, knuckles white, but I don’t move. I don’t speak yet. I just sit with the weight of what she’s trying to do. She thinks she’s being merciful. She thinks she’s sparing me. But all I see is her preparing to die quietly in that house. As if that’s some kind of gift to me. I look at her profile…so still, so elegant, even in pain. And I remember the first time I saw her. Not in scrubs. Not behind a curtain. But really saw her. Holding her oldest daughter Emilia as a newborn. Smiling like she hadn’t already started disappearing.

“You think I’m going to walk away,” I say softly. “You think if you make it ugly enough…cold enough…I’ll finally give up. That I’ll hate you just enough to leave you there.” She doesn’t answer. “You think that’s love,” I whisper. “You think love means keeping me safe from watching you get destroyed.” She closes her eyes. Her mouth trembles, just once. And it hits me…she’s already decided. She’s not choosing to go back. She never left.

“Addison,” I say, my voice cracking. “You don’t have to protect me. That’s not how this works.” She exhales through her nose. Controlled. Cold. Like she’s already gone somewhere else in her mind.

“I’m not protecting you,” she says. “I’m protecting them. You’re the only one left who can.” There’s a pause. A long one. And then…because I have no other choice…I let the silence break me too.

“I didn’t become a cop because I thought I could save the world,” I say, my voice rough. “I became a cop because like I said… I was that little girl. The one no one saved. The one who flinched when the front door opened. The one who heard things break and learned how to hold her breath for hours at a time. I did this job because I couldn’t stop my mother from falling apart. But I swore…I swore to God…I would stop the next one.” I turn toward her, full body now, because she needs to hear this. She needs to feel it.

“And now here you are. Not a case file. Not a number. You. You’re my best friend, Addison. I love you. And I’m not going to fail you.” She finally looks at me again. But the hurt in her eyes is deeper now. Like love itself is painful.

“I already failed myself,” she whispers. And that’s what kills me. That she believes it. That she’s trying to hand me the kids like a will, like a goodbye note, and call it love. I reach for her hand again. Not forceful. Not pleading. Just steady.

“You didn’t fail,” I say. “But if you make me drive away without you tonight… that’s the moment we both lose.” And for a long, terrible moment…she says nothing. Only her silence answers me. And I hold on anyway.