Page 133 of Peak Cruelty

I press the folder into her chest.The photos inside.The screenshots.The date-stamped records.The paper trail she was sure no one would ever put together.

She swallows like it burns.

“I don’t know what this is,” she says, but her voice is shaking.

“You will.”

66

Marlowe

Ithought she might change.With evidence.But no, it’s always the same walk.

Two blocks from her favorite urgent care to the smoothie shop.One detour through the alley.Then the rear parking lot behind a mid-rise condo—where the HOA fines you if your curtains don’t match the exterior.

Today, she’s fifteen minutes behind schedule.

The kid’s with her, like always.Same arm bandaged.Different story behind it, if she bothered to make one up this time.

They walk fast.Her grip on him is tight, fingers wrapped high on the wrist like she’s afraid he’ll break free and tell someone everything.

He doesn’t.He never does.

I trail them from across the street.A little closer than usual.I want her to feel it—not danger.Not yet.Just the sense that something’s off.That someone finally sees her.That someone’s finally going to do something about it.

She orders the smoothie, complains about the ice, takes a selfie with the cup.The bruises on the boy’s arm are just another part of the set dressing.

He sits quiet on the curb.Legs folded, like he knows not to be noticed.

I remember that posture.

I remember what it costs to hold it too long.

When she leaves, I don’t follow immediately.

I wait.

She’s always alone on Thursdays.The ex-husband—ex-boyfriend—whatever he is, takes the kid.

Tonight, I give it an hour.

Long enough for her to relax.Long enough for her to believe the world is as safe for her as she’s made it cruel for him.

I reach her building at 8:43 p.m.

Buzz myself in behind a delivery guy.Third floor.End unit.Porch light out.

She’s watching TV.

I don’t knock.

I wait in the hallway, tucked behind the stairwell, until the light under her door dims.Until the laugh track ends.Until the shadows shift just right.

Then I raise my hand.

Three quick knocks.

Not rushed.Not timid.

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