Judge sat up on the edge of the bed, wheezing slightly. He looked at Kelsie with shock, and then, slowly, anger.
"What the hell was that?" he rasped.
"Get out," Kelsie said, pointing at the door. She backed into the corner of the room, putting the armchair between them.
He stood up, straightening his uniform. He wiped his mouth, checking for blood. "Five minutes ago you were enjoying that."
"That was a physiological response," Kelsie spat. "That wasn't love. That was you manipulating me."
"I was trying to give you what you wanted!" he yelled, throwing his hands up. "You've been nagging me for a baby for years!"
"Don't you dare," Kelsie said, her voice low and dangerous. "Don't you dare act like this is a gift. You're scared. You're scared because I saw that text. You're trying to trap me."
"I am not trying to trap you!"
"Then tell me who she is!" Kelsie screamed. "Tell me who 'A' is! Right now! Unlock your phone and show me the messages!"
Judge went still. The air in the room grew heavy. He looked at Kelsie, his face closing down like a shutter.
"I can't," he said calmly. "It's a violation of privacy. It's police business."
"Bullshit!" Kelsie threw a pillow at him. It hit his chest harmlessly and fell to the floor. "HIPAA doesn't apply to you! You're a cop, not a doctor! Since when do witnesses text the Captain of the precinct about their pain at nine p.m.?"
"Since the witness is under extreme duress," he said, reciting the line like a script. "She's in a protection program. I can't compromise that."
Kelsie laughed. It was a hysterical, broken sound. "You expect me to believe that? You think I'm stupid?"
"I think you're paranoid," he said coldly. "I think you're letting your insecurities ruin our marriage."
The gaslighting was so blatant it was almost impressive.
"If I'm so paranoid," Kelsie said, "then divorce me. Let me go."
His eyes flashed. "Don't say that word."
"Divorce," Kelsie said clearly. "Divorce. Divorce."
He stepped toward her, his finger raised. "Stop it."
"Give me my phone," Kelsie said.
He stared at her for a long moment, his chest heaving. Then, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out her phone and her wallet, tossing them both onto the mattress. They bounced once.
"Sleep here," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Don't leave this room. We have dinner with Kara tomorrow. You will be there, and you will act like my wife."
He turned and walked out. He slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.
Kelsie slid down the wall until she hit the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest.
She didn't cry. She was done crying. She felt... hollow. Scraped clean.
She reached for her phone and turned it on. It buzzed with missed calls and texts from Kia.
I'm okay, she texted Kia. Pick me up in the morning.
Kelsie sat there in the dark, listening to the house.
The silence was absolute, a heavy blanket. The master bedroom was just across the hall. She crept to the guest room door, her heart pounding, and pressed her ear against the cool wood. His door must have been left ajar.
She held her breath.
Judge's voice came through, muffled but audible. The tone was different. It wasn't the cold, commanding bark he used with her. It wasn't the angry shout.
It was soft. Gentle. Almost pleading.
"I'm here," he was saying. "I know... I know it hurts... breathe... I'm coming to see you tomorrow... I promise... you're safe..."
Kelsie closed her eyes.
He wasn't talking to a witness. You didn't promise a witness you were coming to see them with that kind of tenderness.
He was talking to her. To A.
And in that moment, listening to her husband comfort another woman through a few inches of wood and drywall, Kelsie's heart finally, quietly, broke.
