Page 42 of Pen Pal

I slammed my door shut, hearing Erin screeching at me, but I didn’t care. I sped off, not looking back.

My heart pounded, and a thrill rushed through me. I’d never defended myself like that, and it felt good. How dare Erin try to make me out to be the bad guy when he was sneaking around behind my back.

And thank goodness I wouldn’t stay married to Mark for long.

As I pulled into the Lockwood gas station, my phone rang. It showed up as an unknown caller. Cringing, I picked up as I put the gas nozzle in my car. “Branson,” I announced.

“Yeah, that’s right bitch, you’ve still got my last name, and don’t you fucking forget it,” Mark spat on the other line.

I looked around as my heart froze, dread creeping into my veins. It hadn’t taken long before Erin ran to him, crying about our altercation.

“How did you get this number?” I demanded.

“You don’t get to question me,” he snarled. “As much as it sickens me, you’re still my wife, and I’ll be damned if you endanger the mother of my child.”

“Believe what you want,” I breathed. “But if you sign the papers, we can move on and never speak again.”

“You aren’t getting a penny from me,” he snapped.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that. From now on, you can contact my lawyer; any contact with me directly after this call will be considered harassment. Goodbye, Mark,” I sighed before I hung up the phone.

I put it on silent, knowing he would blow it up and I would have a case to change my number again with my phone company.

When I finished gassing up, I drove to my home, where Sylvia was waiting for me at the door. I groaned, having wholly forgotten our appointment as I parked.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I ran into my ex’s mistress, and now he’s blowing up my phone.”

She frowned as I let her inside, explaining everything that happened when I ran into Erin and the phone call with Mark.

“How many times has he called you since then?” she questioned, gesturing to my phone.

I looked at it, rolling my eyes at the missed calls. “Twenty-two, oh, twenty-three, Mark’s calling me now.”

“Private caller,” Sylvia frowned. “He’s hiding his number, so you can’t prove it’s him, so you can’t file harassment charges.”

“If he leaves a voicemail, I could,” I mused, sending a quick text to my lawyer with a screenshot of the call log. “I’ll wait to change my number until tomorrow night; maybe he’ll be so mad he’ll leave a voicemail. He hasn’t left one yet.”

“You’ll have to leave your phone on silent,” she frowned. “What if there’s an emergency?”

“If it’s bad enough, a coworker can run down here and get me,” I shrugged.

“Well, if it gets bad enough, the police might convince a judge to subpoena yours and his phone records to prove it was him. But it has to be pretty bad,” Sylvia informed as she wrote in her notebook. “Do you have a busy week planned?”

“I have an appointment with my client tomorrow,” I admitted. “The cases are very complex, so I barely have time to look at other casesright now.”

“Cases for one client? Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” Sylvia commented.

“You have no idea,” I mumbled.

15

Enzo

Visiting hours took its sweet time to get here. I tried to hide my enthusiasm as the deputy came, grumbling as he shackled me and dragged me out of my cell in the hole.

“Enjoy,” Vitali called from his cell, smirking.

I glared at him. I didn’t want the guards to have even a hint that I enjoyed my visits with my little pen pal in case they wanted to cause trouble. Thankfully, since my phone privileges were suspended, they couldn’t keep me from legal visits. They were a constitutional right, and I hadn’t been convicted of my charges yet.

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