Page 70 of Circle of Strangers
The word drips with condescension.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying what I truly want to say.
He shifts closer, his mood softening as he reaches for my hand. “You know I love you, right? I’m doing this because I love you.”
I don’t pull away, though everything inside me screams to.
“I know you better than anyone, which is why I know your instinct is to run when things get hard.” His gaze bores into me. “I’m not going to let you run, Camille. I love you too much. I’m protecting you from yourself.”
His thumb brushes over my knuckles. It only makes my fist clench tighter.
“You have to trust that I have our best interests at heart. Going against me would be reckless and selfish.” His eyes soften, as if he’s soothing a frightened child. “And you’re not those things. You’re a good wife, a good mother. Think of the kids. They need us. They need us together.”
He leans in, grazing his lips against mine—an intimate gesture that now curdles in my chest like spoiled milk. Again, I force myself to kiss him back.
“You’re right,” I tell him. “I’ll follow your lead on this.”
He thinks he’s in control.
He thinks he’s won.
But he has no idea who he’s kissing.
53
I sit on the couch with my laptop balanced on my knees, the screen glowing in the dim light. My heart races as I fill out the online application, typing carefully—name, address, Social Security Number. It’s a shot in the dark, but I have to try. If I can get approved for a credit card, I’ll at least have something ... a way to escape with the kids when the time is right.
I click submit and hold my breath.
The answer comes almost immediately, flashing on the screen like a slap across the face.
Denied: SSN frozen due to suspected fraud. Please contact customer service. Estimated wait time: 72 hours for resolution.
Seventy-two hours. I slam the laptop shut, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
He’s not just playing a game—he’s playing to win. And I’ve made the grave mistake of underestimating him.
I pull myself together and grab my purse. I can’t sit here waiting for emails or phone calls. I need access to money.
Now.
At the bank, the smell of stale coffee and disinfectant fills the air. The teller smiles politely as I fumble with my wallet, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. The weight of everyone’s gazes presses down on me.
I glance down at my wallet, searching for my driver’s license—and stop cold.
It’s gone.
My heart thunders in my chest. I flip through every compartment, every pocket, tearing through the seams of leather. It’s not here.
I’m paralyzed in place, my hands trembling as angry adrenaline courses through me. I can’t open a new account without ID. I can’t doanythingwithout my license.
Will must’ve taken it.
I utter a quick apology to the teller and rush out of the bank, my pulse pounding in my ears. Across the way, a payday loan shop catches my eye—its neon sign buzzing faintly, promising fast cash with no questions asked.
But I don’t have a paycheck. No income. No proof of anything.
The fluorescent lights hum, beckoning me, mocking me.
