At first, it was once.
“Naomi,” the receptionist said, appearing beside my desk. “There’s a Trevor Harrison on line two. He says it’s about your daughter.”
My stomach dropped.
“Tell him I’m unavailable and give him my attorney’s number.”
He called again twenty minutes later.
Then again after lunch.
By Thursday, he was calling ten times a day.
Emails flooded my work inbox.
I have concerns about Bailey’s living situation.
You are violating the custody agreement.
We need to talk like adults.
You can’t erase me.
None of it was true. All of it was designed to make me feel watched.
Patricia called me into her office Friday afternoon.
“Is everything okay?”
I felt humiliation rise in my throat. “It’s my ex-husband. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said firmly. “You are not responsible for his behavior. We have procedures for harassment. Give reception his name. His calls will not come through again.”
For a second, I could not speak.
Trevor had taught me that every problem he caused was somehow mine to fix.
Patricia handed me a tissue.
“We protect our people here.”
That evening, I filed a police report. The officer was sympathetic but honest.
“Keep documenting. If he threatens you or shows up, call us.”
Tasha sent a cease-and-desist letter.
Trevor ignored it.
The next custody exchange, Simone came with me.
Trevor arrived at the airport looking rumpled, pale, and mean. I smelled alcohol when he stepped close.
“Naomi, please,” he said, while Bailey went to the restroom. “Can we just talk?”
“No.”
“We were married eight years.”
“All communication goes through attorneys.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Cheating on your wife, hiding money, and harassing her at work is ridiculous.”
His face darkened.
“I apologized.”
I stared at him.
“No, Trevor. You explained. You blamed. You demanded. You never apologized.”
Bailey returned before he could respond.
I kissed her goodbye and watched them leave, dread crawling under my skin.
That night, I could not sleep.
At 11:13 p.m., my phone rang.
Bailey.
I answered before the second ring.
“Baby?”
Her voice was tiny. “Mom, can you come get me?”
I sat straight up. “What happened?”
“Dad won’t stop crying and yelling about you. He said you ruined his life. He said if I loved him, I’d tell the judge I want to live with him.”
Rage went through me so pure it steadied my hands.
