Page 17 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Somewhere behind my ribs, where rage simmers and purpose waits.

I glance at her now, sipping lukewarm tea like it’s just another Sunday.

And before I can stop myself, I ask the question I never dared voice.

“Why did he stop?”

She stills.

No flinch. No jolt. Just a quiet pulling inward, like she’s bracing for something heavy.

Her mug clinks against the counter. She doesn’t look at me.

When she finally speaks, her voice is careful. Measured.

But something colder lives beneath it.

“The system wasn’t there for me,” she says, fingers laced tight. “I did everything right. Filed reports. I documented everything. Called the police. We moved and changed numbers so many times.

I followed every step they said would keep us safe.”

She exhales slowly but doesn’t finish. The silence stretches—heavy, humming.

“One day I realized... no one was coming. Not a badge, not a court, not a neighbor. And sometimes...” Her gaze lifts, meeting mine but not quite landing. “Sometimes women just have to help themselves.”

The words settle like dust—slow but unshakable.

“You do whatever you have to,” she adds, softer. “To survive. Protect the people you love. Make it stop.”

That last part lands differently.

To make it stop.

The chill creeps in—not from her voice, but from what builds underneath.

He harassed her for a decade until she was twenty-six and I was ten.

And then—nothing.

No more voicemails. No more shadows outside our window.

Just... silence.

I used to believe, in that innocent way kids do, that he moved on. That we were safe.

But maybe it wasn’t that simple.

Maybe my mama—my fighter—went to battle in a way she never admitted. Did something to keep me safe.

“Honey?” she murmurs, tilting her head. “Are you all right?”

I try to smile, but something swells behind my ribs—hot, aching, and grateful.

Suddenly I just need a hug.

And like always, she knows. She opens her arms.

“I just... I love you,” I manage, words catching as I wrap my arms around her. “For everything. For who you are.”

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