“No, I am done fixing what you keep breaking,” I tell him, and Aaron shifts slightly closer without stepping in front of me. Evan tries a softer tone next, reaching for apology as a tool rather than meaning.
“I should not have done it, but we can go to counseling,” he says, trying to sound sincere. I look at him and reply, “One bad night does not explain years of fear,” and list the moments I have buried for too long.
The laundry room incident, the bruised wrist, the night he locked me outside, and the excuses I repeated to protect him all come out clearly. Aaron closes his eyes briefly, absorbing every word, while Evan looks like he is losing his footing.
“You are ruining everything,” Evan says, shifting blame again. I answer, “Everything was already broken, I just stopped pretending it was not,” and reach into my bag.
I place printed papers on the table, showing the steps for filing a protective order in Riverside County Court, and Aaron nods when he sees them. Evan stares at the pages like they are something unreal.
“You cannot be serious,” he says, but I meet his gaze steadily. “I am finally serious,” I answer, and Aaron pulls out his phone to make a call.