Once outside, Jace helped me load my luggage into his pickup truck, and I settled Poppy in her car seat, feeling the heat of her little body against mine as I tucked her in. She stirred slightly, opening one eye to peek up at me—a reminder of what truly mattered. “Hey, pumpkin,” I whispered, brushing a stray hair out of her face. “We’re going to be okay.”
The drive to the motel was filled with an awkward silence, punctuated only by Poppy's soft coos as she played with her pacifier. I took this time to think back on my life with Eric, replaying moments that now felt tainted with betrayal. I remembered when we first met, the romantic whirlwind that swept me off my feet. I had fallen for his charm, his confidence, and the way he seemed to have everything figured out. But now, I could see the cracks in his facade, the careful construction of a man who used manipulation as a weapon.
As Jace parked, I glanced around the modest motel. It wasn’t glamorous, but it felt like a fortress—my temporary refuge against the impending storm. Jace helped me check in, and as we ascended to our room on the second floor, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life was about to escalate into something far more dangerous.
The dimly lit room was simple, containing just a bed, a small dresser, and a bathroom. Despite its starkness, it felt oddly comforting. I set Poppy down on the bed, and she instinctively crawled up towards the pillows, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Let’s take stock,” Jace said, bringing me back to reality as he rifled through his duffel bag. He pulled out a notebook and handed it to me. “Here, you need to start documenting everything. Write down every detail you can remember about Eric, your relationship, and any interactions leading up to your divorce. This will come in handy, especially if you need to present your side to a judge.”
I felt overwhelmed but complied, sitting on the edge of the bed with the notebook open in front of me. As my pen moved across the paper, memories flooded back—some sweet, some painful. I wrote about our wedding, the blissful years that followed, and how the pressure of work began to strain our relationship. Jace occasionally glanced over my shoulder, offering encouragement without being intrusive.
“What about Poppy? Is Eric a good father?” he asked cautiously, trying to gauge the risk.
I hesitated. “He can be. When things are good, they’re really good. But when they’re bad… He can be volatile. I thought he’d change for me, for her, but I see now that he’s always chosen himself first.”
Jace nodded, scribbling down notes. “You need to be prepared for anything. If he’s leveraging that picture and threatening custody, he’ll pull out all the stops. You have to show you’re stable, and that you're doing everything to protect Poppy.”
With every word I wrote, the weight of my situation settled deeper into my chest. Jace’s questions, incisive but gentle, forced me to confront the facets of my past I had buried deep beneath layers of denial. I recalled moments when Eric had belittled me or manipulated situations to suit his needs, and the more I wrote, the clearer my resolve became. I wouldn’t allow him to take Poppy from me. I would fight.
My phone buzzed again, jarring me from my thoughts. My heart raced as I saw Eric’s name light up the screen. Swallowing hard, I glanced at Jace, who leaned forward. “Don’t respond unless you are ready. Keep your cool.”
I took a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs before opening the message. It read, “We need to talk about Poppy. Don’t think this will end well for you.” My stomach churned. His threat was palpable, and the undercurrent of menace in his words sent chills down my spine.
