Page 72 of Truck Hard

“Fine.” I manage, though my voice wavers. “Just being clumsy.”

But I’m not fine. Not even close. Charlie’s voice still echoes in my head from his call this morning, dripping with that false sweetness that always preceded his worst moments.“Looking forward to seeing my boy tonight, Hannah. You better not try anything stupid.”

My stomach churns at the memory. The court-mandated visitation looms ahead like a storm cloud, threatening to destroy the fragile peace I’ve built. Charlie never cared about Cam before—barely acknowledged his existence except to remind me that he’d hurt Cam if I didn’t get my shit together. But now he’s weaponizing these visits, using them to maintain his grip on my life even after I’ve escaped.

I look up just in time to see Garret’s truck pull up to the curb across the street. The engine cuts off and he steps out, carrying a brown paper bag that must be lunch. The salon door flies open and Charlotte bursts out, her face lit up with pure joy.

My chest tightens as they meet in a passionate embrace. His large hands cup her face so tenderly as he kisses her, like she’s the most precious thing in his world. She melts against him, completely lost in the moment. They break apart laughing, sharing some private joke that makes Charlotte throw her head back.

Hand in hand, they walk to the wooden picnic table beneath the sprawling oak tree. Charlotte perches on the table while Garret unpacks their lunch. Even from here, I can see how his eyes never leave her face, drinking in her every expression like a man dying of thirst.

Longing spreads through my chest. I want that—that easy affection, that certainty of being cherished. Liam used to look at me that way, before everything fell apart. He’s starting to look atme that way again, but fear still claws at my chest—fear that it’s all temporary and this won’t last.

My fingers brush against the fading scar on my chin, hidden beneath a layer of makeup. Charlie’s last gift before he went to jail. One of many scars that will stick with me for the rest of my life, ensuring that I’ll never be able to forget what he did to me. Will I ever feel safe enough to love like that again? To be loved like that?

“Order up!” Frank’s voice startles me from my thoughts. One order of a cheeseburger and fries and a second with a footlong with chili and onion rings sits in the window, steam rising invitingly. I grab them, willing my hands to stay steady as I deliver them to the elderly couple waiting in the lobby.

The bell above the door chimes and my shoulders tense automatically. If I keep doing this every time someone comes into the restaurant, I’m going to pull a muscle.

But it’s just Lisa and her daughter Emma—regular customers who always brighten my day with their warmth. Emma bounces on her toes, pigtails swinging as she waves enthusiastically.

“Hannah Banana!” she calls out, her gap-toothed smile infectious. Despite everything, I feel my lips curving upward.

“Hey there, sunshine.” I ruffle her hair as she leans against the counter. “The usual today?”

Lisa nods, pulling her wallet out of her purse. “One chocolate and vanilla swirl soft serve cones and a coffee, black.”

“Coming right up.” I head to the coffee pot first, Emma’s giggles following me like a ray of light cutting through the darkness. For a moment, I let myself remember when Cam was that age—before Charlie’s abuse intensified, when hope still colored my world in bright hues instead of bruise-purple and shadow-black.

The reflection in the window catches my eye as I pour Lisa’s coffee. The woman staring back looks haunted, dark circlesunder her eyes betraying nights spent lying awake, jumping at every creak and rustle. I hardly recognize myself sometimes, wondering what happened to the girl who used to laugh so freely, who believed in love and happy endings.

But I can’t dwell on that now. I have to be strong—for Cam, for myself, for the life we’re trying to build. The courthouse agreed to host the visitation, thank god. Charlie fought hard to have it at his house—ourold house—but even his expensive lawyers couldn’t override the judge’s concern about my safety.

Small miracles.

You can do this, I tell myself, straightening my spine as I deliver Emma’s ice cream cone and Lisa’s coffee.He can’t hurt you there. He won’t try anything with witnesses around.

Still, dread sits heavy in my chest like a stone. Charlie doesn’t need fists to hurt me anymore. He has other weapons now—words that cut deeper than knives, threats wrapped in smiles, the power to rip my son away if I don’t play by his rules.

But I have weapons too. Liam’s auto shop is just down the road from my house, his presence a silent guardian even when he’s not beside me. One call and he’d come running—I know this as surely as I know my own name. The thought steadies me, even as guilt twists in my gut for relying on him so much.

The rest of my shift passes in a blur of ice cream cones, sundaes, and forced smiles. Every tick of the clock brings me closer to facing Charlie, to watching him interact with our son while pretending he hasn’t spent years terrorizing me. The anxiety builds like a wave, threatening to drown me.

When my shift ends, I quickly cash out my drawer, gather my tips, and head to the break room. I freshen up in the tiny employee bathroom, studying my reflection as I fiddle with the buttons on my blouse. They’re fine, but my nerves are shot and messed up buttons used to get me slapped. My bruises are all gone and my scars have started to fade, but sometimes I still seethem when I look in the mirror—ghostly reminders of the life I left behind.

You’re stronger now. I remind myself, smoothing my hair with trembling fingers.He can’t control you anymore.

But as I step out into the afternoon sun, my heart pounds against my ribs like a caged bird seeking escape. This evening’s meeting at the courthouse looms over me, further feeding my anxiety.

Tonight, I’ll have to face my demon again or risk being held in contempt.

I just pray I’m strong enough to survive it.

I take a step toward my car and freeze in place, barely breathing, as I stare into the wide, dark eyes of a deer. Its delicate body tenses, nostrils flaring as it catches my scent. We’re only about ten feet apart in the gravel parking lot, both of us caught off-guard by this unexpected encounter.

Time seems suspended as we regard each other. The doe’s ears twitch nervously, alert to every sound—the distant rumble of a truck on Main Street, the slamming of Frank’s back door as Ashley takes out the trash. I recognize the animal’s wariness, how its muscles bunch, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

“I know how you feel,” I whisper, not moving an inch.

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