Page 7 of This Life of Mine

Istudy the screen, baffled by what I’m seeing.

The texts from Cole get progressively worse. The first few are almost reasonable. Then they get longer. Angrier. Written entirely in capital letters.

I remember a time when watching my phone light up would make my stomach drop before I’d even read the message. Knowing that every ignored call would make him angrier. Every unanswered text is another excuse for him to spiral.

Now, I’m annoyed.

This bullshit started again a few weeks ago.

First the texts. Then the calls. The voicemails.

And when those stopped getting a reaction, he showed up outside my house in the middle of the night. He never knocked or announced himself. He just stood there while my Ring camera quietly recorded every visit as I slept, oblivious to the man lingering beyond my front door.

A mutual friend mentioned recently that Cole had been getting nervous about his upcoming wedding. Apparently, in his usualdrunken stupor, he told anyone willing to listen that he’s still in love with me.

The notion almost makes me laugh because I don’t want anything to do with that man ever again.

Against my better judgment, I play the first voicemail.

“Hey babe. God, I miss you. I miss everything about you. Why? Why won’t you answer me? I love—“

I end it.

He’s slurring his words. Drunk as usual. I play the next voicemail.

“Answer the fucking phone, Lina. I’m tired of playing this fucking game with you—“

I pause it and play the following one.

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? You’ll never be better than me, Lina. I fucking own—“

I pause it and play the next. The fourth begins with more yelling, so I don’t bother finishing it.

“Well,” I mutter, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. “That’s enough of that.”

The texts get ignored, and the voicemails saved. You never know when you’ll need hard evidence of someone’s craziness.

A few years ago, I tried obtaining a restraining order against Cole. Our divorce wasn’t an easy process, with him being…difficult.

The Allister family attorney dismantled my case, piece by piece, until I sounded hysterical. Exaggerating the truth. Unreliable because I’m being emotional. Like the chaos I described only existed in my imagination.

So, the petition was denied.

Cole learned something important that day. He learned that innocence is a perspective, and he can play the part well enough to get away with whatever he wants. Ever since, he’s been careful.

Careful enough to stay inside the lines, careful enough to leave before the police arrive, and careful enough to make me sound paranoid whenever I try to explain what he’s doing.

The law only works when someone is willing to break it openly. Cole never does, at least never gets caught when he does.

Even after all these years, he still finds ways to insert himself into my life. Like a splinter you believed you’d removed only to discover it’s still buried beneath the skin.

His voice still reaches places I’ve spent years trying to silence. Old instincts awaken beneath my skin, answering a threat my mind hasn’t fully named.

I don’t know why I listened to the messages. Morbid curiosity, maybe. Whatever the reason, I won’t make the same mistake again.

Cole has taken enough of my peace. He’s not getting today.

I start the Bronco. The engine roars to life, and the familiar sound unfurls the heaviness inside me. Apple CarPlay illuminates the dashboard.