Months go by. Months of waiting in fear. Months of clutching my baby close to my chest and a gun in my palm. Months of waiting for this lunatic to get caught.
*TIK TOK**TIK TOK* TIK TOK**TIK-*
The clock's hand keeps creeping to each number behind the glass.
*DRIP*DRIP*DRIP*PLINK*
My kitchen sink leaks unceremoniously with each drop of water hitting the metal basin with a slight plop.
I just received a call, and they caught the man. The man has been torturing me for so long. The man who ripped away my pride, joy, safety, and everything.
I get dressed. I'm going to meet a psychologist. "Therapy is key, Miss Delilah!" The doctor said to me after I fainted at Mack's house. "That horrid scene was the last straw for you. They have a suspect in custody. He's the one!"
They said a 19-year-old boy caused all this pain. "100% him!" the officer told me over the phone. "No doubt!"
He told me the boy's fingerprints were everywhere. The boy pleads innocent. His name is Jack. He is behind bars. Im safe.
I think.
I arrive at a large brick building. I walk inside and wait for my appointment.
"Delilah?" An itty-bitty woman calls my name—thin build, grey hair, short and hunched with a bright shawl hanging over her shoulders. And large round glasses enlarged her eyes. We step into her office. "My name is Dr. Millicent Buford, PHD." She said. "I understand you recently went through an abortion?"
"Abortion?" I ask, bewildered. "I haven't had an abortion!" She looks at me, taken aback and seemingly confused. "No?" she chirps as she shuffles through her papers. " I could've sworn-"
Great. I'm stuck here with an old bat who can't even get her patients' problems right. I did not waste 20 dollars on babysitting a fossil. "My mistake!" She exclaims, breaking me from my train of thought. "Delilah, not Daliah. You have been through a very traumatic event involving...a stalker?"
"That's me!" I say in false cheer. I force out a fake laugh. It makes Dr. Buford scowl. "There is absolutely nothing funny about this, Delilah." She says in a serious tone. "You were being targeted, your business was burned, your child was harmed, your entire world broke."
"Your husband died."
Those last words stung. Mack. The images flashed in my mind of his murder. Then memories of our wedding, the first date, the night we met, the divorce, the sadness.
"Ex-husband," I say, trying to change the subject. "I'm fine,e no,w though."
"You aren't fi,e Delilah. You may never be fine."
The therapist looks at me and leans close to whisper. "The boy is innocent."
"What?" I say, not sure if my ears failed me. "I'm afraid that's our time for today," Dr. Buford said.
And she walked away.
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