Page 1 of Judge's Justice

Chapter 1 - Nora

The bus smells like stale air and someone's leftover fast food, and I've been breathing it for six hours straight. Grace is curled against my side, her head heavy on my arm.

The world outside the window is nothing but darkness and occasional streetlights, and I keep checking my phone like the map will somehow change, like Millhaven will suddenly be closer than it was thirty seconds ago.

My reflection in the window looks like a ghost: pale, red-rimmed eyes, hair falling out of its ponytail in greasy strands. I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours. Haven't eaten anything but gas station crackers. My stomach is a knot of nausea and rage that won't untangle no matter how many deep breaths I take.

I came home early. That's the stupid part. I came home early because I forgot my laptop and needed it for a presentation the next day. Turned my key in the lock at two in the afternoon instead of six. Walked down the hallway calling his name.

Opened the bedroom door and…

My chest tightens. I force myself to breathe. Grace shifts against me, and I look down at her sleeping face, those dark curls tangled around her cheeks, her mouth slightly open, completely peaceful. She has no idea. No idea that her father chose someone else. That I packed everything we could carry into two suitcases and ran before I could talk myself out of it.

She keeps asking where we're going. Keeps signing it with those small, perfect hands. “Where, Mama? Where?”

“On a trip,” I sign back. “Just you and me.”

She smiles every time like it's an adventure. Like we're not running. Like I'm not the biggest idiot who ever lived for trusting a man who told me not to worry about his "best friend."

The bus slows. I feel it in my bones, that deceleration that means we're almost there. My phone buzzes, a text from Jennie.

**You there yet? Call me when you get settled. I love you. He's an asshole.**

I smile despite everything. Jennie answered on the first ring when I called her from the gas station bathroom, my voice shaking so hard I could barely get the words out. She didn't say "I told you so" even though she could have. Just said, *Pack your stuff. Leave. I'll help you figure out the rest.*

My mom said almost the same thing. Told me to come stay with her, but she's three states away and hasn't been the same since Dad died. I couldn't do that to her. Couldn't show up broken on her doorstep and make her take care of me when she's barely holding herself together.

So, I found Millhaven instead. Googled "quiet small towns" and picked the first one that had an Airbnb with a code entry. No checking in with a host. No small talk. No having to pretend I'm okay when I'm so far from okay I can't even see it from here.

People online said Millhaven is mostly calm. Calm sounds perfect. Calm sounds like exactly what I need.

The bus pulls into the station, and I realize immediately that "station" is a generous word for what this is. It's a covered bench with a vending machine and a single streetlight that flickers like it's considering giving up entirely. The building behind it, some kind of convenience store, maybe, is dark. Closed. Everything is closed.

Of course it is. It's almost eleven at night.

I wake Grace gently, signing against her palm so she knows I'm here before she opens her eyes. “We're here, baby. Time to wake up.”

She blinks up at me, confused and sleepy, then sits up and looks around. Her hands move immediately. “Where is here?”

“Millhaven,” I sign back. “Our new place for a little while.”

“Is Daddy here?”

My heart cracks. “No, baby. Just us.”

She frowns but doesn't ask anything else. I grab our two suitcases from the overhead compartment, and the bus driver barely looks at us as we step down onto the pavement.

The doors hiss shut behind us, and the bus pulls away, and then it's just us. Me and Grace in a flickering pool of light in a town I've never seen before.

Grace's hand finds mine immediately. She doesn't like new places, doesn't like not knowing what's around her when she can't hear everything. I squeeze her fingers and try to look confident even though I have no idea where we're going.

The Airbnb is a ten-minute walk according to my phone. Straight down Main Street, left on Oak, third house on the right. Easy. Except my suitcase has a broken wheel and keeps trying to tip over. Grace is dragging her feet because she's tired, and the streetlights are few and far between.

I'm trying to figure out how to carry both bags and hold Grace's hand when I remember the vending machine. Food. We need food. I have maybe thirty dollars in cash and a debit card I'm terrified to use in case he's monitoring it somehow, but Grace hasn't eaten since the gas station six hours ago.

“Hungry?” I sign to her.

She nods immediately, her whole face lighting up.