The divorce was finalized a year ago.

You couldn’t take being a military spouse. All the moving and the nights alone, the constant worry when he was gone. You hated it, the ever-present anxiety. When he started bringing up kids, you knew you couldn’t stay.

You moved out. He tried to make you take the house, but you insisted on leaving. You got your own apartment. Got your own job.

John was still there, like a shadow. Calls with made-up reasons, he always seemed to be at every gathering. Always standing next to you as though you two had never even split.

But you felt good. You were independent. You were proud of your job and your cozy apartment…

But now it’s all crashing down.

A pipe burst in your building. Your entire apartment is flooded. Your friends don’t have the space to take you in. Your parents live too far away.

Then, he swooped in.

“C’mon, love. Everything’s just how you like it.” John coos. His hand is on the small of your back as he guides you into the house you once shared. “Everything will be fine. You can stay here as long as you need.”