Because suddenly he understood: Olivia hadn’t just left. She’d removed herself from both his mother’s control—and his. And she’d left behind proof that would outlast his anger.
The interview took twenty minutes. Derek tried to walk a careful line—cooperative, but protective. The facts didn’t bend. Yes, Marjorie had a key. No, Olivia didn’t approve. Yes, the card was taken. Yes, the apartment was entered while Olivia was away.
Each answer landed like a weight.
When they finished, Officer Patel warned him not to interfere with Olivia’s property or attempt contact. “If a protective order is filed, violating it will make things worse.”
After they left, Derek closed the door softly and leaned his forehead against it, shame and anger colliding in his chest.
He tried calling Olivia’s sister—his old shortcut.
Voicemail.
Then a text from an unknown number:
This is Attorney Janine Ross.
Do not contact Olivia’s family.
All communication goes through my office.
Olivia is safe.
Derek stared at the screen, then at the table. Olivia had anticipated every move.
His phone rang again—Marjorie, relentless.
“Are the cops there?” she demanded. “Did that snake call them?”
“Yes,” Derek said flatly.
Marjorie erupted. “After everything I’ve done—”
“Mom,” Derek cut in, voice rising, “you stole her card.”
“I was going to pay it back!”
“With what?” he snapped. “You took it because you thought you could.”
Her voice dropped. “You’re choosing her over me?”
Derek looked around the stripped apartment—the missing photo, the empty closet, the absence of keys by the door. Olivia hadn’t taken everything. She’d left him exactly what he’d insisted was “no big deal” for years: a place where she didn’t feel safe.
“I already chose,” Derek said quietly. “By never stopping you.”
Marjorie sputtered, then sharpened. “Bring her back. Tell her she’s overreacting—”
Derek hung up.
