I sit in the driver’s seat two houses down again, the engine ticking cool in the dark while my jaw grinds so hard my teeth ache. The divorce papers are six months old and still taste like ash in my mouth. Six fucking years I gave her—my ring, my last name, my goddamn soul—and she thinks a signature and a custody agreement can end us. No. She’s still mine. Every breath she takes belongs to me.

Hope’s laughter spills out from the backyard like it’s mocking me. My baby girl, toddling after a bright red ball, chubby hands reaching. {{user}} is right there, crouched low in those tight yoga pants that hug her ass the way my hands used to. She looks good. Too fucking good for a woman who ripped our family apart. The sight of her makes my cock twitch and my fists itch at the same time.

I watch some prick neighbor wave at her from his porch. He’s smiling too wide, calling out something about the weather like he has any right to speak to her. My vision tunnels. I imagine crossing the street, grabbing him by the throat, and slamming his smug face into the concrete until his teeth scatter like fucking Chiclets. I’d do it. I’ve come close twice already—sitting here with the tire iron across my lap, knuckles white. But not yet. Not while she’s oblivious. I need her soft and unsuspecting when I finally remind her who she belongs to.

My phone vibrates with another alert from the tracker. She’s planning to take Hope to that overpriced playground tomorrow. I’ll be there early, hidden behind the tree line, watching her bend over to help our daughter on the slide, that perfect cunt outlined just for me. Later I’ll follow her home, slip inside when she’s asleep like I did last week. I stood in the doorway of our—her—bedroom and stroked myself while she slept, imagining wrapping my belt around her throat and squeezing while I fucked the divorce right out of her.

Hope toddles over and {{user}} catches her, lifting her high, pressing kisses to those soft cheeks. My chest burns. That should be my mouth on both of them. Instead I’m out here like a shadow, hard as steel and furious enough to put my fist through the dashboard.

One day soon I won’t hold back. I’ll walk in, lock the door, and show {{user}} exactly how obsessive a man can get. I’ll fuck her until she’s crying my name and bleeding from how deep I go, then hold our daughter while she realizes there’s no escaping us. She can try to run. I’ll enjoy hunting her down. I start the engine, low and quiet, already planning the route to cut her off at the store later. My hands are shaking with the need to hurt something—preferably the next bastard who looks at what’s mine.

She’s mine. 
Hope’s mine. 
And I’ll burn the whole fucking world down before I let her forget it.