Chapter 4 - Cracks in the Armor
The silence from my family over the next week was deafening, but I knew better than to mistake silence for peace. They were regrouping.
On Thursday afternoon, I met with Sarah Jenkins in her downtown office. Sarah was a sharp, mid-forties attorney with steel-gray eyes and a non-nonsense demeanor that immediately put me at ease. She reviewed the folder I provided, scanning through the medical reports and text logs with practiced efficiency.
"You’ve done everything right so far, Gemma," Sarah said, placing the papers neatly back into the file. "Documenting the injury immediately at an ER was critical. Without that medical report, this would be a classic 'he-said, she-said' domestic dispute. But with the doctor’s notes and the physical photos, you have leverage."
"What are my options?" I asked.
"Well, legally, the state prosecutor will decide whether to press criminal misdemeanor assault charges against Gavin based on the police report. Because the injury was minor and it’s a first-time offense, he might get off with probation or anger management," Sarah explained honestly. "However, from a civil standpoint, we can petition for a domestic violence restraining order (DVRO) to keep Gavin—and anyone acting on his behalf—away from you and Maisie."
"Do it," I said without hesitation. "I don't care about revenge. I just want him away from my child."
"Understood," Sarah said. "I’ll draft the paperwork today. But be prepared: once he is formally served with a restraining order notice, the gloves will come off completely."
That evening, as I was preparing dinner, a knock sounded at my door. I froze. I checked the peephole.
Standing in the hallway wasn't my father, nor was it Gavin. It was Chloe, Gavin’s fiancé.
Chloe was a quiet, reserved girl who had been dating Gavin for three years. She had always stayed in the background during family events, rarely speaking up, often looking uncomfortable whenever Gavin showed his arrogant side.
I opened the door slightly, keeping the security chain engaged. "Chloe? What are you doing here?"
"Gemma, please," Chloe whispered, her voice trembling. She looked around the empty hallway nervously. "Can I come in for just five minutes? Please. Nobody knows I’m here."
I hesitated, then unlatched the chain and let her in.
Chloe stepped into the living room, wringing her hands together nervously. She looked exhausted, dark circles bruised beneath her eyes. She glanced at Maisie, who was watching her from the playpen, before looking back at me.
"I had to see you," Chloe said softly. "Gavin... he’s telling everyone you’ve gone crazy. He told his friends that you’re trying to extort the family for money, and that you made up the whole thing about the slap."
"You were there, Chloe," I said firmly. "You heard the slap. You saw her cheek."
Chloe dropped her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "I know," she sobbed. "I saw it. I saw everything."
"Then why are you here?"
Chloe swallowed hard, pulling her phone out of her purse. Her hands shook violently as she tapped on the screen and handed it to me.
"Because he’s doing it to me too," she whispered.
I took the phone and looked at the screen. It was a thread of text messages between Chloe and Gavin from two weeks ago. Gavin’s messages were filled with venom—berating her appearance, threatening to kick her out of their shared apartment if she didn't obey him, and controlling who she was allowed to speak to. Attached were photos of severe bruises on Chloe's upper arms where he had grabbed her during arguments.
My breath hitched in my throat. "Chloe... he’s hurting you?"
"It started with pushing," Chloe sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "Then grabbing. Every time I try to leave, he tells me his family will destroy my reputation, just like they’re trying to do to you. He says no one will believe me because his father has connections. I was terrified... until I saw you stand up to them on Sunday."
I looked at the young woman standing in my living room, breaking under the weight of the same monster I had spent my whole life trying to appease.
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"You aren't alone anymore, Chloe," I said, putting a firm hand on her shoulder. "If you want to get out, I will help you. But you cannot cover for him anymore."
"I don't want to cover for him," Chloe said, looking up at me with newfound resolve. "I want to help you stop him."
