Nobody answered. They looked at each other, the unified front they had formed against me crumbling into cowardly silence.
“I won’t ask again.”
I took a shaky breath, stepping forward and resting a hand on my belly. The babies were kicking, a frantic flutter against my ribs. “She did,” I said, looking right at Sandra. “And Monica spat on me.”
Marcus closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. When he opened them, the last shred of familial connection was gone. He looked at them not as blood, but as threats.
“Mom,” Marcus said, his voice flat and dead. “Give me the key.”
“Marcus, sweetheart, you don’t understand—”
“The key. Now.”
Sandra fumbled in her purse with shaking hands, pulling out the silver key and dropping it on the counter like it burned her.
“You have three minutes to get out of my house,” Marcus said, walking over to me and wrapping a strong, solid arm around my shoulders. He pulled me close, and for the first time in months, I felt safe. “And if you ever come within a hundred yards of my wife or my children again, I won’t call the police. I will handle it myself.”
“You’re choosing her over your own family?” Brett sneered, trying to muster a final spark of defiance.
Marcus looked at him, his eyes cold as ice. “She is my family. You three are just the people I used to know.”
They scrambled for the door, tripping over themselves to escape the suffocating weight of his anger. Sandra tried to look back, opening her mouth to speak, but Marcus simply pointed at the door. They practically ran down the stairwell.
When the door finally clicked shut, the silence in the apartment was heavy, but clean. The toxicity had been swept out.
Marcus turned to me, the hardened soldier vanishing, leaving only my husband. His hands were gentle as he touched my unbruised cheek, his eyes scanning my face, my belly, my soul.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice finally breaking. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”
I leaned into his chest, burying my face in the scratchy fabric of his uniform. The smell of rain and desert dust and home washed over me.
“You’re here now,” I said softly, feeling the babies shift again, settling down.
He kissed the top of my head, holding me tight. They had called me a gold-digger. They had called me trash. But standing there in our tiny apartment, with the only man who mattered holding me like I was the most precious thing in the world, I knew exactly what I was.
I was unbreakable. And I was finally home.
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