“I’m showing you the strongest properties available in your price range,” I said evenly. “But if you’d like, I can keep looking.”
Chloe barely spoke. She stared at the floor, or out the car window, or into her coffee like there might be another life hiding at the bottom of the cup.
One evening after a showing, she asked if we could talk alone. I dropped Ethan at their hotel and took Chloe to a quiet café near the interstate, the kind of place with soft jazz playing overhead and baristas who knew half the customers by name. We sat with lattes cooling between our hands.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Chloe whispered. “About leaving. About starting over.”
“And?”
She looked close to tears again.
“I don’t know if I can do it. He’s all I’ve known for so long. I’m scared of what he’ll do if I try.”
I reached across the table and took her hand.
“I know it’s scary. But you deserve better than a life built on fear. Start with information. Start with records. Start with one honest step.”
She nodded, breathing unevenly.
“Okay.”
When we got back to the hotel, Ethan was waiting in the lobby, tense and impatient.
“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting over an hour.”
“Chloe and I had business to discuss,” I said calmly. “Everything is under control.”