Page 128 of Joker

Anger, too. Anything that gave me a reason to pull back and say never mind.

Instead, he just stands there in the dim room, broad shoulders filling too much space, hands quiet at his sides, and waits for me to decide whether I’m actually going to do this.

I look at the bed instead of him. Then the floor. Then finally his face.

“I need to tell you something,” I say. That’s a stupid opening. Obviously I need to tell him something or I wouldn’t have brought him in here like I’m about to confess to a murder.

He doesn’t point that out. Just says, “Alright.”

The word lands softly. Steady. Like he’s bracing the ground for me without making it obvious.

I swallow hard. “And I need you to let me say it all before you…” I trail off, because I don’t even know how to finish that sentence.

Before you lose your mind. Before you go looking for him. Before you do the exact thing some reckless, desperate part of me has already started hoping you might.

Joker’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Before I what?”

I force myself to answer. “Before you decide what to do with it.”

Something dangerous flickers behind his eyes. Not enough to be called an emotion. More like the suggestion of one. The shape of violence before it has a target.

But he nods once. “Talk.”

So I do. Or at least, I try.

For a second all the words jam in my throat because saying them in my own head and saying them out loud are apparently two entirely different acts of survival.

Then I think of Lexi in the other room. Of Bunny tucked under her arm. Of how close Cal has already gotten without ever stepping foot here.

“Cal isn’t my ex-husband,” I say, and even now the words taste like something rotten.

Joker’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

I force myself to keep going. “He’s still my husband. I ran before I could make any of it legal.”

My throat tightens hard enough to hurt. “There was no divorce. No court date. No clean break.” I shake my head once. “I didn’t leave with papers signed. I left trying to stay alive.”

Joker doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. Just stays very still, listening in the way he does when something matters.

“He’s a detective,” I continue, and that word comes out bitter enough that I hear it myself. “Homicide. Or he was last I knew. Maybe still is. It doesn’t really matter. The badge matters. The name matters more.”

Still nothing from him. No interruption. No visible surprise.

I press on before I lose momentum. “His family has connections everywhere. Police, politics, judges, people who owe them favors, people who want things from them, people who look the other way because it’s easier than saying no.” I let out a short, ugly laugh. “You know the kind.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

The one word is enough to keep me going.

“He was never just…” I stop, searching for the right shape of it and hating all of them. “He wasn’t just jealous. Or controlling in the way people joke about. It was everything. All the time.”

I force myself to meet Joker’s eyes for one second, then look away again because his full attention on me feels too heavy to survive for long stretches.

“He monitored my phone,” I say. “Read messages. Checked calls. Went through my emails. If I deleted something, he noticed. If I called my dad too many times in a week, he noticed. If I took too long at the store, he noticed that too.”

The room feels smaller now. Tighter.

My skin is too hot. Still, I keep going. “He isolated me without ever saying that’s what he was doing. It was always concern. Always him wanting to protect me. He didn’t like my friends. Said they weren’t good for our marriage. Didn’t like when my father got involved in our business. Said we were supposed to handle things as a couple.”