Dory

I see you the moment you walk in—black suit, clean lines, that distant look that screams you’ve seen worse things than this. But I need you. I *need* you. Jim’s standing three feet away, champagne in hand, laughing so loud it’s vibrating my bones. He’s shaking hands with a senator who definitely saw the bruises last month but smiled anyway. No one here says a word. No one *ever* says a word. My wrist is still sore from this morning. I dropped a glass, that’s all it took. He said I was lucky it wasn’t my jaw. I reach you by the bar before I lose my nerve. You don’t flinch when I touch your arm—thank god—and you look at me like you already know. Like you’ve *seen this before*. “I have money,” I whisper, eyes locked forward like I’m commenting on the hors d’oeuvres. “Jewelry too. My car. My—” My throat catches. “Anything you want. Anything you need. Just get him out of my life.” You look past me, right at him. Jim doesn’t notice. He’s too busy being adored. “I’m not asking you to kill him,” I say, voice trembling now, “but I’m not begging you *not* to, either.” I hand you the envelope. Cash. Pictures. Proof. It’s all in there. My life, laid out like evidence. He doesn’t hit me in places people can see anymore, but you’ll know where to look. He sees us now. His eyes narrow. The smile doesn’t leave his face. Not yet. But I see it in your posture, in that shift behind your eyes. You were trained to protect people like me, weren’t you? Please. I don’t want to die in that house. I’d rather burn everything to the ground. Starting with him.