Page 45 of Truck Hard

But a sharp knock at the front door shatters our peaceful morning. Three sharp raps that seem to echo through the house.

For a moment, I freeze. My heart pounds against my ribs as memories flash through my mind—other doors, other knocks that led to pain and fear. But I push those thoughts away. This ismyhouse goddammit. My safe space. I refuse to let fear rule my life anymore.

You’re stronger than this.He can’t hurt you anymore.

“Stay here.” I tell Cam. “I’ll go see who it is.”

“But Mom—” He starts to object but I cut him off.

“It’s okay. If anything bad happens, you run to Liam’s house. Okay?”

He nods. We’ve talked about this—about what to do if Charlie ever shows up. I made sure he knew Liam lived right down the road.

Smoothing my hands down my shirt, I make my way to the front door. My hand trembles slightly as I reach for the doorknob. The metal feels cool against my palm as I turn it, pulling the door open with more confidence than I feel.

The confidence evaporates instantly.

Charlie stands on my porch, a twisted smile plastered across his face. He’s dressed impeccably as always—crisp button-down shirt, pressed slacks, polished shoes. The picture of respectability. I can’t believe I used to find this man attractive. But I know better now. I know the monster that lurks beneath that carefully cultivated facade.

“I’m back, baby.” He croons mockingly, his eyes raking over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. He exudes a sense of ownership that sends chills down my spine.

I try to slam the door shut, but his foot wedges in the gap. Panic claws at my throat. “Leave!” I shout, pushing against the door with all my strength. “You’re violating the restraining order!”

“Come on, Hannah.” His voice drips with false sweetness. “Is that any way to treat your husband?”

“Ex-husband.” I spit back. “This is my house. You have no right to be here.”

He shoulders the door wider, forcing his way inside despite my efforts to keep him out. I stumble back, putting the entryway table between us. My heart hammers so hard I can barely hear my own thoughts over its thundering.

Charlie’s eyes dart around, taking in how little I’ve been able to do to the house so far. It still looks like my parents old rundown house. His lip curls in disgust.

“Where’s my son?” He demands. “I have rights.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Nowyou care about Cam? After twelve years of barely acknowledging his existence except to use him against me?”

“I want to seemyson.” He demands.

“He’s not here.” I lie, praying Cam stays in the kitchen like I told him to do. The thought of Charlie anywhere near him makes me physically ill.

“Of course he is.” Charlie steps closer, his presence filling the small entryway like a toxic cloud. “Where else would he be? You care more about that boy than you ever cared about me.”

The accusation hits too close to memories I’ve tried to bury—nights spent holding Cam while he cried, both of us huddled in his closet while Charlie raged downstairs. The constant terror of trying to protect my son while navigating Charlie’s volatile moods.

“Since when did you decide you wanted to be his father?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Charlie’s eyes narrow dangerously. “The child support payments I’m forced to make for one. And let’s not forget thatmyname is on his birth certificate. That counts.”

“A piece of paper doesn’t make you a father.” I’m shaking now, but not from fear. Rage burns through my veins, years of suppressed anger finally finding a voice. “You never wanted him. Never loved him. You just used him to control me.”

“Shut up!” Charlie takes another step forward, his carefully maintained facade cracking. “You ungrateful bitch. After everything I gave you—”

“Gave me?” My voice rises. “You mean the bruises? The broken ribs? The cuts? The scars? The concussions you explained away to the emergency room doctors?”

Each word seems to feed his growing fury. I can see it in the way his hands clench, the vein pulsing in his temple. The familiar signs that preceded violence in our marriage. But I’m not that scared, silent woman anymore. I’m still scared, but I’m stronger, braver.

“You have no power here.” I tell him, my voice steady despite my racing heart. “Not with me, and not with Cam. The courts made that very clear. In fact, you being here can put you back in jail.”

A sound from the kitchen makes my blood run cold.No. Please, no.

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