WITNESSES
888 Words
I’m tying my hair up when there’s a knock on my door.
Not a knock-knock.
A hesitant one.
“Janyia?” Bella’s voice slides through the door. “You alive in there?”
I close my eyes once.
Of course, it’s her.
“Yeah,” I say. “Come in.”
She pushes the door open with her shoulder, already halfway through a sentence. “You vanished. I texted you like—” She stops when she looks at my face. “Oh.”
“What?” I ask.
She drops onto my desk chair, spins once, then stills. “You look like you almost committed a felony but chose personal growth instead.”
I snort despite myself. “That accurate, huh?”
“Painfully,” she says. “Marcus?”
I don’t answer right away.
Bella waits. She always does. Dramatic about everything except the moments that actually matter.
“He showed up,” I say finally. “Twice.”
Her mouth falls open. “At Apex?”
“And the store,” I add. “He followed me.”
“That man has never respected a boundary in his life,” she snaps. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to deal with anyone else’s emotions,” I say. “I had enough of my own.”
She nods, softer now. “Fair.”
There’s a pause. Then—
“Did he say the thing?” she asks.
I look at her.
She grimaces. “You know. The thing where he pretends you’d be nothing without him.”
I let out a breath. “Yeah. That one.”
Bella’s jaw tightens. “He really is consistent, I’ll give him that.”
Before I can respond, my phone vibrates on my bed.
A notification.
Unknown Contact.
I frown.
Bella leans forward. “What is it?”
I open it.
A forwarded message.
A screenshot.
Marcus.
Standing in the convenience store parking lot.
Mid-argument.
Me, facing him. Calm. Clear. Unmoved.
Below it, a single line:
This is your ex? Because yikes.
My stomach drops.
“Who sent that?” Bella asks, already on her feet.
I scroll.
Another message follows.
You handled that well. If he contacts you again, let security know.
My breath catches.
The name attached to the message isn’t one I expect to see.
Eric Dusine.
Bella freezes.
Then slowly turns to me.
“Janyia,” she says carefully, “why does your extremely fine, extremely powerful program sponsor have a picture of you arguing with your trash ex?”
I stare at the screen.
Heat crawls up my neck—not embarrassment. Awareness.
He saw.
Not just the scene.
Me.
Not folding.
Not begging.
Not shrinking.
“I didn’t know he was there,” I say quietly.
Bella’s eyes flick between me and the phone. “Yeah, well. He definitely knows you are.”
I don’t reply.
Because somewhere between the parking lot and this moment, something shifted.
Marcus thought he still had the upper hand.
He doesn’t.
And now?
I’m not the only one who knows it.
Bella is still staring at my phone like it might explain itself if she looks hard enough.
“You’re not gonna just… gloss over that, right?” she asks. “Because I’m spiraling for you.”
I lock the screen and set it face down on my bed. “There’s nothing to gloss over.”
“He saw you,” she says slowly. “Like—saw you.”
“I know.”
“And he texted you.”
“I know.”
“And you’re being weirdly calm about it.”
I shrug out of my blazer. “I don’t feel weird.”
“That’s what worries me.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees. My heart isn’t racing. My stomach isn’t twisted. The feeling in my chest is… level. Solid.
Eric didn’t ask if I was okay.
He didn’t pry.
He didn’t offer to fix anything.
He acknowledged. He warned. He stepped back.
It’s restraint. And somehow, that makes it louder.
Bella watches me for a beat, then sighs dramatically. “Okay. I’ll circle back to this later, when you’re ready to admit you’re living in a romance novel.”
“Don’t,” I say, but there’s no bite in it.
She grins. “I won’t. Yet.”
She stands, pausing at the door. “For what it’s worth? I’m proud of you. Marcus came back swinging and you didn’t even flinch.”
After she leaves, the house noise settles back into its rhythm.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
My phone buzzes again.
I pick it up this time.
Eric:
I won’t involve myself unless you ask. But if he shows up again, it becomes a security issue. Not a personal one.
That’s it.
No subtext.
No invitation.
No pressure.
Just a line drawn in clean ink.
I type back.
Me:
Understood. Thank you for the heads-up.
Three dots appear.
Then disappear.
No reply.
I exhale.
Not disappointed. Not relieved.
Grounded.
Marcus thought access was something he could reclaim if he pushed hard enough.
Eric understands access is something you’re given—or not at all.
And me?
I finally understand that control doesn’t require coldness.
Just clarity.
- Writer
