“Don’t Come In – Get Out Right Now!” The Maid Yelled. I Ran – And Just Five Minutes Later…

Chapter 5: The Safe House and the Reckoning

The safe place was a small farmhouse belonging to Marcus’s family, about 60 miles from the city. It was isolated enough to give us privacy, but close enough to civilization not to be completely vulnerable.

The main house was simple, with three bedrooms, a large living room, and a rustic kitchen. Emily remained silent for most of the trip.

Occasionally she’d pick up the phone Maria had given back to her before we left and stare at the screen. But she didn’t answer Julian’s constant calls.

Every time the phone rang, she flinched as if expecting a physical blow.

“We can turn it off,” Sarah suggested gently. “You don’t need to hear his voice right now.”

Emily hesitated but ended up handing the device to Sarah, who turned it off and put it in her purse. When we arrived at the farmhouse, it was already getting dark.

The sky had that purple color that precedes total darkness, and the first stars were beginning to appear.

“Let’s go inside,” Marcus said, parking the car near the porch. “Nobody followed us, but it’s better not to stay exposed.”

The house was clean, but with that distinct smell of places that stay closed for a long time. Marcus turned on the lights and quickly checked the rooms, ensuring we were truly alone.

Benjamin went to the kitchen to make coffee while Sarah led Emily to the living room sofa, speaking to her in a low voice. I stood in the middle of the living room watching my daughter.

I was still trying to process that she was really here, that we had managed to get her out of that house. It seemed unreal, like a dream I was afraid of waking up from.

“You two need to talk,” Sarah said, getting up. “I’ll go help Benjamin in the kitchen.”

I sat down next to Emily, keeping a respectful distance. She was hunched over, as if trying to take up as little space as possible.

Her thin, pale hands twisted nervously in her lap.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, knowing it was a stupid question but not knowing where else to start.

She shrugged, a gesture that reminded me so much of the teenager she once was.

“Confused. Scared. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“You’re here because part of you knows something is wrong,” I replied softly. “Even if it’s hard to admit.”

Emily looked up at me, and I saw a mixture of anger, fear, and confusion in her eyes.

“You hate Julian. You’ve always hated him from the beginning.”

“No, Emily. I distrusted him when I realized how he was changing you. How he was cutting you off from everyone who loved you.”

“He protects me,” she answered automatically, but her voice lacked conviction.

“From what, honey? From whom? From your mother who only wants to see you happy? From your friends you haven’t seen in over a year? From your life that you gave up for him?”

She didn’t answer, but I saw tears forming in her eyes.

“Emily, look at yourself,” I continued, trying not to sound accusatory. “You’re so thin I barely recognized you. You’re terrified of a phone call from your own husband. You live isolated, with no friends, no family. Is that protection, or is it a prison?”

A tear escaped and slid down her cheek.

“He… he says it’s for my own good. That I was naive, that people wanted to take advantage of me.”

“And who took advantage of you, honey? Your friends who called you every day until you stopped answering? Me, who called you for months with no reply? Or the man who controls what you eat, where you go, and who you talk to?”

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing silently. I wanted to hug her, but I knew I needed to let her process her own emotions.

Emily needed to reach her own conclusions.

“When was the last time you felt truly happy?” I asked after a moment.

She lifted her face, thoughtful.

“I don’t know. Before, I guess.”

“Before everything got so complicated? Before he started isolating you? Before he made you doubt yourself and everyone around you?”

Emily nodded slowly, as if admitting something to herself for the first time.

“It was different at the beginning. He was attentive, affectionate. He made me feel special.”

“That’s how they work,” said Benjamin, returning to the living room with a tray of coffee. “They start by making you feel like the most important person in the world. Then slowly, they chip away at you. Isolate you. Until you depend on them completely.”

Emily looked at him, curious.

“How do you know that?”

Benjamin placed the tray on the table and sat in the armchair across from us.

“My sister went through something similar. It took us years to realize what was happening. By the time we finally got her out of that situation, she was barely the person we knew.”

“And how is she now?” Emily asked, a spark of hope in her eyes. “Better?”

“Not completely recovered. I doubt anyone ever fully recovers from that kind of abuse. But she’s living again. She has friends, she works, she smiles. Simple things that seemed impossible before.”

The word “abuse” made Emily flinch.

“He never hit me,” she murmured.

“Abuse isn’t just physical, Emily,” Sarah explained, joining us. “The control, the manipulation, the isolation, the gaslighting—those are all forms of abuse.”

“Gaslighting?” Emily repeated, confused.

“It’s when someone makes you doubt your own perception of reality. When they say things that happened didn’t happen, or that you’re imagining things. When they turn your legitimate concerns into paranoia.”

Emily fell silent, and I could see the gears turning in her mind, connecting dots and replaying memories in a new light.

“He… he does that,” she finally admitted, her voice almost inaudible. “When I say I’m worried about something, he says I’m overreacting. When I remember something he said or did, he swears it never happened. That I’m confusing things.”

“And when someone like your mother tries to warn you,” Sarah continued, “he convinces you that person has an ulterior motive. That they’re trying to separate you out of jealousy or malice.”

Emily looked at me, comprehension slowly dawning in her eyes.

“He said you were controlling. That you wanted me to fail so I’d keep depending on you.”

“I just wanted you to be happy, honey,” I replied, feeling my own voice break. “And I could see you disappearing before my very eyes.”

Marcus’s phone rang, interrupting our moment. He answered quickly, and his expression turned grim.

“He’s at Beatrice’s house,” he reported, hanging up. “One of my contacts on the force just alerted me. Julian managed to trace a call you made from there, Elizabeth. He’s furious, threatening everyone.”

My blood ran cold.

“Is Beatrice okay?”

“Yes, she wasn’t home. But he’s questioning the neighbors, showing photos of you and Emily. It’s only a matter of time until someone mentions seeing you leave together.”

Emily turned even paler, if that was possible.

“He’s going to find us,” she whispered, panic evident in her voice.

“No, he’s not,” Marcus guaranteed. “Nobody knows about this farmhouse except people of complete trust. And we’re prepared if he tries anything.”

“Prepared how?” I asked, alarmed.

Marcus opened his jacket, revealing a pistol at his waist.

“I’m an ex-cop, remember? I have a legal permit, and I won’t hesitate to use it if he threatens anyone here.”

The sight of the gun made me uneasy, but also strangely relieved. Julian wasn’t the kind of man who would back down from words or empty threats.

He was dangerous, and maybe we needed real protection.