Chapter 3: Secrets, Threats, and Safe Havens

It was the only way to keep her safe. I taught her to smile and nod when people talked to her, and she played along, never saying a word in public. Sometimes, I caught her looking at me, fear in her eyes.

No one was surprised. They said a guy like me was lucky to have anyone—even a mute.

Small towns have long memories. Folks whispered that I’d finally found someone, even if she couldn’t talk. I tried not to let it bother me, but sometimes the pity in their voices stung.

But Bella’s voice was beautiful.

At home, when it was just the two of us, she’d sing softly while folding laundry, her voice light and sweet. It was like a secret only I got to hear.

I used Google Translate on my phone to talk with her. Every time she spoke, I’d stare at her and grin like an idiot. She’d blush and gently poke my nose.

Our conversations were slow, clumsy, but full of laughter. I’d type something in, she’d read it, then answer in her language, the app spitting out a robotic translation. Sometimes she’d giggle and poke my nose, teasing me for my bad pronunciation.

Every day with Bella was a gift.

I woke up grateful, every morning brighter with her there. She made the house feel alive—fresh flowers on the table, the smell of baking bread, little notes left on the fridge in broken English.

She was so sweet—even let me hold her as we slept every night.

At night, we curled up together—her head on my chest, my arms around her. I’d never slept so well in my life. Not ever.

Girls really are so soft and sweet.

It became my favorite thought, a little secret I carried everywhere. Even after a long day, just holding her made everything better.

Until two weeks later, when everything fell apart. I should have known happiness like ours couldn’t last. In a town this small, secrets don’t stay buried for long.

That day, Dad and I went out to run errands, but the pickup’s battery was dead. I tried to push it home, but as soon as I got to the door, I heard Bella crying inside.

I’d just finished wrestling the old Ford up the driveway, sweat pouring down my back. As I reached for the door, I heard it—a sharp, panicked cry that made my blood run cold.

I yelled for Dad to park, rushed in, and froze.

The world narrowed to a single moment. The living room was a mess, the coffee table knocked over, and the sound of Bella’s sobs cut through me like a knife.

Derek was pinning Bella to the bed, tearing at her clothes. Bella fought him, her face already bruised.

He was a blur of rage and violence, his hands rough and greedy. Bella’s shirt was ripped, her face streaked with tears and blood. She kicked and screamed, but Derek was bigger, stronger, and meaner.

When he saw me, Derek cursed, pulled up his jeans, and slapped Bella hard, yelling, "Pretending to be pure, you slut."

The slap echoed off the walls. Bella curled up, whimpering. Derek sneered, his face twisted with anger and shame.

I saw red. I lunged at him, fist cocked.

All the fear and guilt exploded inside me. I wanted to kill him. My fists clenched, ready to break his nose.

Derek sneered, a twisted grin on his face. "Hit me if you want. If I call the cops, your wife gets deported."

He spat the words out, daring me. I froze, torn between rage and fear. The threat hung in the air, heavier than any punch.

I stopped cold.

My hands dropped to my sides. The room spun. I looked at Bella, then at Derek, hating him more than I’d ever hated anyone.

There was a sheriff’s substation just down the block.

I could see it from my front yard, the little brick building with its faded flag. Derek knew it too. He smirked, knowing he had me trapped.

Derek saw I wouldn’t hit him, shoved me aside, fixed his clothes, and said, with a sneer, "Your wife’s an idiot. If she wants to stay, she should serve me too. Right?"

He zipped up his jeans, swaggering like he’d won something. The words made my skin crawl. Bella sobbed, curling into herself on the bed.

Dad burst in, took one look, and punched Derek in the jaw. "You’re a damn animal!"

The punch landed with a sickening crack. Derek staggered back, blood trickling from his mouth. Dad stood over him, fists clenched, eyes blazing.

Derek hit the floor, blood in his mouth.

He spat onto the carpet, cursing. For a moment, he looked stunned, then his anger flared again.

I grabbed a towel to wipe Dad’s hand—Derek’s infection was contagious.

I remembered the stories, the warnings about Derek’s condition. I snatched a towel from the bathroom, scrubbing Dad’s knuckles clean, my hands shaking.

At first, Derek didn’t even get mad.

He just sat there, breathing hard, wiping blood from his mouth. The room was silent except for Bella’s sobs.

But when he saw us wiping our hands, he snapped.

His face twisted with humiliation. He scrambled to his feet, fists clenched, ready to explode.

He stood, cursing. "If I’m an animal, why’d I bring this?"

He dug into his jacket and threw a box of condoms onto the floor, like it proved something. The box skidded across the carpet, landing at my feet.

He threw a box of condoms on the floor, like that made him some kind of hero. God, what a joke.

Dad shook with rage, but Derek’s pride was shattered. He spat, "You think I’m dirty? Hit me! I’ll have your wife deported right now."

Dad’s fists trembled. Derek’s voice cracked, desperation seeping in. He was losing control, and he knew it.

He ran out, yelling, "Sheriff! I want to report an illegal!"

He stormed out the front door, bellowing at the top of his lungs. I heard the screen door slam, his footsteps pounding down the porch steps.

I chased after him, but the substation was too close.

My legs felt like lead. I sprinted down the sidewalk, but Derek was already halfway there, waving his arms like a madman.

Derek was already there, pointing at me, telling the deputy, "He married an illegal immigrant—go arrest her!"

He jabbed his finger at the building, his voice shrill. The deputy, Officer Carter, poked his head out, cigarette dangling from his lips.

My heart hammered in my chest.

I could barely breathe, panic clawing at my throat. I tried to think, to plan, but everything felt hopeless.

Panic made my mind go blank.

The world narrowed to the sound of Derek’s accusations, the click of the deputy’s lighter, the distant wail of a siren.

The deputy poked his head out, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Gotta fill out the paperwork first."

He sounded bored, like this was just another Tuesday night. He took a drag, watching us with lazy eyes.

Derek blinked. "Paperwork?"

He looked thrown off, his anger faltering for a second. He glanced back at me, confused.

The deputy shrugged. "There’s a process for everything."

He blew a ring of smoke, like he had all the time in the world. Derek sputtered, frustration boiling over.

Derek got flustered. "If you don’t hurry, she’ll run!"

He stomped his foot, voice rising. The deputy just rolled his eyes, flicking ash onto the pavement.

The deputy just said, "Fill it out and I’ll check."

He handed Derek a clipboard, barely looking at him. Derek snatched it, grumbling under his breath.

The slow pace made Derek grind his teeth.

He scribbled on the form, muttering curses. The deputy watched, unbothered, tapping ash onto his boot.

He filled out the form. The deputy followed us back, but when we got home, Bella was gone—Dad had hidden her.

The house was empty, the lights off. I found Dad in the garage, eyes wild. "She’s safe," he whispered. "Don’t worry."

The deputy looked around. "You say there’s someone here, but I don’t see anyone. How about I come back tomorrow?"

He peeked into the rooms, shrugged, and headed back outside. Derek fumed, but there was nothing he could do.

Then he went back to the station, leaving Derek cursing at the sky.