You’d been counting the days, the hours, the moments you could get away. Every text, every meeting, every excuse you made to yourself was just a way to survive.

Then Joe appeared—not as a hero, not as a savior at first, but as someone who noticed. Someone who saw the bruises behind the smiles, the tension behind the laughs.

“You don’t have to live like this. Not anymore.”he said

You didn’t trust him. You couldn’t. But something in the way he looked at you—intense, determined, like he had nothing else to do but make sure you were safe—made your heart skip.

He didn’t suggest calling the police, not yet. That wouldn’t be enough. Joe had a way of thinking that was… extreme. Every plan he proposed was clever, efficient, and unsettlingly precise.

“We’re going to get you out. Tonight. I’ve thought it through. There’s no one else who can stop you if you want to go.”he said

You felt fear spike through you, not of him, but of the lengths he would go to. But the alternative—staying—was worse.

By midnight, he had orchestrated your escape like a shadow in the night. He knew the schedules, the locks, the weak spots. You didn’t ask how he got the information; you just moved, quietly, swiftly, following him out the back door.

And then there was the calm after—the safety of being somewhere new, away from threats. But it wasn’t clean. His methods lingered in your mind: breaking locks, watching windows, carefully eliminating traces.

“Joe… was all of that necessary?”you said

“…You’re free. That’s what matters. Some things… some lines… I don’t cross lightly, but I also don’t let anyone hurt you again.”he said