My name is Rachel. I run a small café, “The Daily Grind,” in a quiet residential neighborhood in Portland, Oregon. My husband, David, is an architect, and our three-year-old daughter, Lily, is the center of our universe. My days begin at 6:00 AM, in the stillness before dawn. The first thing I do is turn on the coffee maker, and the rich, earthy aroma of the beans spreads through our quiet house. Outside the window, the world is still dim, the trees in the yard swaying faintly in the morning mist. This quiet time is my favorite part of the day, a pocket of peace before the world wakes up.
I hear David’s familiar footsteps coming down the stairs. He’s always been a man of few words, but his kindness is a language all its own. When he enters the kitchen, he silently places his hand on my shoulder and gives me a light kiss on the temple. It’s our morning greeting, a ritual as comforting as the coffee itself.
“I’ll drop Lily off at daycare today and then head to the café,” I say, pouring him a cup.
David nods slowly, drinking his freshly brewed coffee. Watching his profile, I sometimes notice a distant look in his eyes, as if he’s gazing at a horizon I can’t see. I want to ask what he’s thinking, but I don’t. We have that kind of unspoken understanding; we respect each other’s silence and don’t push too hard. I somehow knew that was how we protected the fragile peace of our relationship.
By the time Lily wakes up, the morning sun is streaming through the window. She comes pattering down the stairs on her little feet, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Mommy!” she chirps, hugging my legs.
“Good morning, Lily-bug.” When I pick her up, her warm, soft body fits perfectly against my chest. In these moments, I truly feel happy.
My day at the café is a busy but pleasant blur. My regular customer, Mrs. Margaret, comes in and orders her usual cappuccino. She often tells me about her late husband, her stories a bittersweet mix of love and loss. “Rachel, you look happy,” she says today, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Yes, I’m blessed,” I smile. But somewhere in my heart, a small part of me can’t fully agree with those words. I should be happy. I have a loving husband, a beautiful daughter, a business I’m proud of. Yet sometimes, I feel something heavy deep in my chest, a shadow I can’t name.
In the evening, I go to pick up Lily from daycare. She’s playing with her friends, and when she sees me, she runs over with a big smile on her face. “Mommy, guess what? I drew a picture today!”
“That’s wonderful! Show me when we get home.”
When we get back, David isn’t home from work yet. His business trips seem to have been increasing lately—three times a week, sometimes four, he goes to distant job sites. He often comes home late, and there are days when he doesn’t make it back before Lily goes to bed. While preparing dinner, I feel a familiar pang of loneliness. Maybe David is pushing himself too hard because the café’s income isn’t enough. The thought makes me blame myself.
That night, David comes home after eight. Lily is already asleep. “Welcome home,” I say, and he smiles with a tired expression. “I’m home.”
“Is Lily already asleep?”
“Yes, I put her to bed at seven-thirty.”
David goes to Lily’s room and quietly opens the door to gaze at our sleeping daughter. Watching his back, I can feel how deeply he treasures her.
At night, before getting into bed, David goes around checking all the windows and locks in the house. This is his usual habit. At first, I thought it was just his meticulous nature, but lately, his actions have become more thorough. He checks the front door twice, three times, and touches the window locks repeatedly to make sure.
“It’s okay, I checked earlier,” I say, but he replies, “Just to be sure,” and checks with his own eyes.
When we get into bed, David lies down next to me and stares at the ceiling. His cell phone lights up on the nightstand—a message notification. He immediately reaches for it and checks the screen.
“Who’s it from?” I ask.
“Work,” he answers briefly, but there’s a shadow in his expression, like he’s hiding something. I don’t ask any more. I feel like I shouldn’t.
That night, I have another nightmare. A dream where someone is chasing me. I’m running through dark, twisting alleys. When I look back, a shadow is closing in. I hear a voice, a voice calling my name. When I wake up, my whole body is drenched in sweat. David is awake, and he silently holds me. He doesn’t ask anything. He’s just there for me. That is our way.
The next morning, David is preparing for another business trip. “I’ll be gone for three days, two nights,” he says, packing a small suitcase.
“Be careful,” I answer with a smile I don’t quite feel.
Lily looks up at him sadly. “Daddy, another business trip?”
David picks up our daughter and holds her longer than usual. “I’ll be back soon,” he says, his voice thick. He gets in the car, and holding Lily’s hand, I watch until it turns the corner and disappears from sight.
The café is busy from the moment I open. Tuesdays always have a lot of regulars, and by the time the morning rush ends, my feet ache. The rhythmic sound of the espresso machine, cups clinking together, customers’ conversations—the usual routine envelops me.
Around 3:00 in the afternoon, my staff member Emily brings a new cake recipe. She’s aspiring to be a pastry chef. “Rachel, could you try this?” she says, holding out a small plate. When I take a bite of the lemon cake, the sweet and sour taste spreads in my mouth. “It’s delicious. Let’s add it to next week’s menu.”
Emily smiles happily. Moments like these are what keep me tied to this job—being able to make people smile. It feels like my reason for living.
At 5:00 in the evening, as I’m preparing to close, my cell phone rings. It’s a message from David. Work is busy. Might not be able to contact you tomorrow. I stare at the screen, feeling a little lonely, but I understand he’s working hard. Okay, don’t push yourself too hard, I reply and put the phone in my pocket.
When I go to pick up Lily from daycare, she’s playing with friends in the sandbox. “Lily, time to go.”
“Mommy, look! I made a castle!” At the end of her pointing finger is a slightly crumbling mound of sand.
“That’s lovely. But it’s time to go now.”
At home, I prepare dinner: macaroni and cheese, Lily’s favorite, and a salad. Without David, the dinner table feels cavernously quiet.
“When is Daddy coming home?” Lily asks.
“The day after tomorrow. Soon,” I answer, my voice brighter than I feel.
After dinner, I bathe Lily and put her in her pajamas. “Mommy, tell me a story.”
“What kind of story would you like?”
“A princess story.”
I begin telling Lily’s favorite fairy tale, a story where a princess overcomes difficulties and lives happily ever after. As she listens to my voice, her eyelids gradually grow heavy. “Good night, Lily.”
“Good night, Mommy.” Looking at my daughter’s sleeping face, a fierce warmth fills my chest. I have to protect this child. That’s my role as a mother.
I go back to the living room and sit on the sofa. I turn on the TV, but the content doesn’t register. There’s still no contact from David. Is he working in a hotel room right now? Or is he meeting with someone at a job site? I pick up my cell phone and think about sending him a message, but I stop. I don’t want to bother him.
Looking at the clock, it’s 10:00 PM. Time for bed. I take a shower and get into the wide, empty bed that feels oddly cold without David. When I close my eyes, I immediately fall asleep.
But that night, the nightmare attacks me again. I’m running through dark alleys. I hear footsteps behind me. When I look back, a shadow is closing in. No matter how much I run, it’s about to catch me. I hear a voice.
Rachel.
A voice calling my name. A voice I know. A voice I wanted to forget.
Rachel. Wait.
My heart pounds violently. I can’t breathe. My feet tangle and I almost fall.
Rachel, I love you.
When I wake up, my whole body is drenched in sweat, my heart still racing. Looking at the clock on the nightstand, it’s 1:00 in the morning. I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself. It’s just a dream. It’s over now. I get out of bed, go to the kitchen, and drink a glass of cold water. Looking out the living room window, the streetlights illuminate the quiet residential neighborhood. “No one is there. It’s okay. It’s over now,” I whisper softly.
I go back to bed and lie down again. If only David were here. If only his warm arms would hold me. Thinking that, I close my eyes. But my sleep is shallow, and I wake up many times.
And then, at 2:00 in the morning, my cell phone rings—a shrill sound that tears through the silence. My heart jumps. Who could it be at this hour? I pick up the phone from the nightstand and look at the screen. David. It’s from him. Why at this hour? Did something happen? An accident? Work trouble? With trembling hands, I answer the phone. “Hello? David? What’s wrong?”
From the other end of the phone, I hear my husband’s breathless voice. “Rachel, lock all the doors in the house right now! All the windows, too!” His voice is urgent, different from his usual calm tone—a desperate voice, as if frightened by something.
“What? What happened?”
“Just do it! Quickly! I’ll explain later. But please, hurry! Protect Lily!”
The call ends. I sit on the bed in a daze, gripping my cell phone. David’s voice… I’ve never heard him sound so desperate. Protect Lily. Those words echo in my head. I jump up and rush into Lily’s room. My daughter is sleeping quietly, her small chest rising and falls regularly. Seeing her defenseless form, I know I have to protect her no matter what. I rush to the bed and pick up my daughter, blanket and all. Lily wakes up and rubs her eyes sleepily. “Mommy?”
“It’s okay. Mommy’s here.” My voice is trembling. I desperately try to smile so she won’t notice. Still holding Lily, I head to the front door. My heart is racing. I check the lock. It’s locked, but I turn it again. Definitely locked. Next, the back door. I go through the kitchen to the service entrance and turn the lock. I go back to the living room and check the windows. With one arm holding Lily, I use the other to lock them—the window in my daughter’s room, the bedroom window. I lock them all.
Something is wrong. Something is approaching. Gripping my cell phone, I call David. He answers immediately. “David, I locked everything! What’s happening?”
From the other end of the phone, I hear the sound of a car engine. He’s driving. “I’m heading there now. Don’t open the door under any circumstances. Don’t open it no matter who comes.”
“Who’s coming? Tell me!” My voice is close to a scream. Lily looks up at my face anxiously.
“I’m sorry. I’ll explain later. I called the police, too. They’ll be there soon.”
“Police? David, what happened?”
“Please, don’t open the door. Promise me.”
“Okay.” The call ends. I sit down on the living room sofa, holding Lily on my lap. “Mommy, what’s wrong?” she whispers.
“It’s okay. Daddy will be home soon.” Saying that, I listen carefully, trying to hear sounds from outside. The sound of wind, the sound of trees swaying, the sound of a car passing in the distance.
And then, I hear the sound of the front doorknob turning—slowly, repeatedly. I hold my breath. My whole body freezes. Someone is trying to open the door. Lily starts trembling slightly. “Mommy…”
“Quiet. Don’t make a sound.” I gently cover my daughter’s mouth with my hand. I can feel it shaking. The sound of the doorknob turning stops. Silence returns. But it’s only for a moment.
Outside the living room window, I see a figure, illuminated by the streetlight. The outline of a man vaguely emerges. The shadow approaches the window, and then he knocks. Lily starts crying softly. I hold my daughter tightly.
“Rachel,” I hear a man’s voice through the window glass. A low voice. A voice I know. “Rachel, open up. It’s me.”
The moment I hear that voice, something inside me collapses. Memories from ten years ago come flooding back all at once. The same voice, the same words. Rachel, I love you. A rainy night. He was standing in front of my apartment. Please, just hear me out. Me, running away. Him, chasing after me. Why are you running? We’re meant to be together. “Let go of me!” I scream. He’s being handcuffed, but his eyes are looking at me. I’ll come back. I’ll come for you.
Ten years. I thought I would never see him again. But I was broken. I couldn’t sleep at night. I felt like someone was watching. A hospital bed. White ceiling. Bandages on my wrists. I can’t live anymore.
I’m pulled back to the present. The man outside the window knocks again. “Rachel, I finally found you. I’ve been looking for you all this time.”
Trembling, I stand up. Still holding Lily, I move away from the window. “Don’t come near me! I called the police!”
“I wanted to see you. I’ve been thinking about you all this time.” The man’s voice is calm, a gentle voice like speaking to a lover. That makes it even more terrifying.
Lily continues crying against my chest. “Mommy, I’m scared!”
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Saying that, all I can do is hold my daughter.
The shadow outside the window moves. The man is walking around the house. Maybe he’s heading to the back door. I hear the sound of a siren in the distance, getting closer. The shadow outside the window disappears. Did the man run away? I sit down on the floor, continuing to tremble while holding Lily.
There’s a loud knocking on the front door. “Police! Are you all right?”
I stand up and head to the front door on trembling legs. Looking through the peephole, I see two uniformed police officers standing outside. I unlock the door and open it. “Are you all right?” a young officer asks, looking at me with concern.
“My daughter… she’s okay.” That’s all I can manage to say. Tears overflow. Another officer enters the house and starts checking each room. “The suspect escaped, but we’ll catch him soon.”
Even hearing those words, I can’t feel relieved. He’ll come back. He’ll come again.
And then, I hear the sound of a car engine. A car makes a sudden stop in front of the house. I hear a door opening. Running footsteps. “Rachel! Lily!”
It’s David. He rushes through the front door. Seeing my husband, everything I’ve been holding back pours out all at once. David holds us tight—so strong. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice is trembling, too.
“Why? Why did you know?” I ask, burying my face in my husband’s chest.
“I’ll explain later. Right now, I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Lily is crying between us. The three of us stay embraced in the entryway, unable to move for a while.
The next morning, a gray sky stretched overhead. After leaving Lily with my mother-in-law, I headed to the police station alone. David said he would come with me, but I declined. This was something I had to face myself. The interrogation room at the police station was cold and impersonal. The detective sitting across the desk had a calm expression. “Last night must have been difficult for you.”
“Yes.” My voice was a whisper. “I barely slept all night.”
“Do you remember the incident from ten years ago?” The detective opened a file. Inside it was the past I’ve been trying to forget.
“Yes, I remember.”
“The perpetrator, Mark Thompson, was released three months ago.” Hearing those words, the blood drained from my body.
“Three months ago? I didn’t know.”
“Normally, victims are notified of the release,” the detective said apologetically. “It seems the notification didn’t reach you. There may have been a problem with the address change procedure.”
I was stunned. Three months ago, and I knew nothing. But David knew. Why did my husband know that he was released? The detective thought for a moment before answering. “Your husband apparently investigated on his own. He hired a private detective.”
A private detective. David hired a private detective without telling me anything. I leave the police station and go home. David is waiting in the living room. My mother-in-law took Lily to the park. She must have sensed that we needed to be alone.
“David.” He looks at me and stands up. “Rachel, please sit down. I want to talk.”
We sit facing each other on the sofa. A long silence flows. “You knew that he was released.”
David nods. “I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is trembling, not with anger, but with sadness.
David takes a deep breath. “Before we got married, I knew about your past.”
“What? That I… that I was a victim of stalking?”
“Everything.”
I gasp. “How? I didn’t tell you everything.”
“Every time you had nightmares, I noticed that you were still suffering.” David looks at me, and there’s deep sadness in his eyes. “So, I investigated who the man was who made you suffer.” I can’t say anything. “I also,” David continues, “I have a similar experience.”
“What?”
“When I was a child, my father used to hurt my mother.”
I look at my husband in surprise. He’s hardly ever talked about his past. “Every night, I heard my mother’s screams. I would hide under the covers in my room and cover my ears.” David’s voice trembles. “The sound of the door being hit, my mother’s crying, my father’s yelling.”
“David…”
“I was small and couldn’t do anything. I just trembled.” He clenches his fists. “One day, my mother left home. She left me behind.”
I place my hand over my husband’s. “What happened after that?”
“I lived with my father. When he wasn’t drinking, he was a decent person. But I always thought,” David looks at me, “never again would I fail to protect someone important to me. Never.”
I’m beginning to understand. “That’s why you hired a detective.”
“When Mark Thompson was released, I hired a detective to monitor him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were finally… finally able to smile.” Tears well up in David’s eyes. “When we got married, you were still scared sometimes. You would flinch at the sound of the door or brace yourself when strangers approached.”
I nod. That was certainly true. “But after Lily was born, you gradually smiled more. The café got on track, and every day seemed enjoyable. I didn’t want you to be scared ever again. So, I tried to solve everything on my own.”
I squeeze my husband’s hand tightly. “But you were carrying it all alone.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I could protect everything.”
Tears run down my cheeks. David’s tears are mine, I can’t tell. “David, you tried to protect me. I’m very grateful for that,” I say, and he looks at me. “But I’ve become stronger, too. I’m not the same person I was ten years ago. You carrying everything alone… that’s not what family is.” I look into my husband’s eyes. “We should have fought together.”
David says nothing and holds me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. From now on, together. No matter what, I promise.” We hold each other for a while.
A few days later, I get a call from the police. Mark Thompson has been arrested and will stand trial. This time, he’ll be charged with stalking, attempted trespassing, and violation of parole. A month later, I stand in court. Mark sits in the defendant’s seat, looking down. He looks thinner and older than ten years ago.
“Does the victim have anything to say?” the judge asks.
I stand up and look at Mark. “I’m not afraid of you anymore.” Mark raises his face and looks at me. “Ten years ago, you took everything from me—security, peace, hope for the future.” My voice isn’t trembling. “But I survived. I built a new life. I have a family I love.” Mark looks down. “You can no longer affect my life.”
The judge strikes the gavel. “Mark Thompson, I sentence you to fifteen years in prison.”
When I leave the courtroom, David is waiting. He holds me. “You did well.”
“Because we’re together.” I look up at my husband and smile.
“No matter what happens from now on.”
“Yes,” I promise. We hold hands and leave the courtroom.
Three months have passed since the trial, and our lives are gradually regaining their peace. David and I go to couples counseling once a week. Our counselor, Dr. Miller, is a kind and gentle person. “You’ve both learned to share your past wounds,” she says.
“Yes,” I answer. “I was scared at first, but when I talked about it, I felt a little lighter.”
David nods, too. “I thought being strong meant carrying everything alone. But I was wrong.”
“True strength is being able to rely on others,” Dr. Miller smiles. “Showing vulnerability strengthens relationships.”
I hold David’s hand. He gently squeezes back.
Lily is also gradually recovering. For the first few weeks, she often woke up crying in the middle of the night, but when we were both there in the bedroom and immediately held her, she would fall asleep feeling safe. One night, Lily asked me, “Mommy, what is family?”
I look at David. He smiles at me. “Family is people who protect each other.”
And David continues, “People who accept each other’s weaknesses.”
Lily thinks for a moment, then says brightly, “Then we’re a family!”
“That’s right.” I hold my daughter. “We’re a family.”
One day, a letter arrives in the mailbox. It’s from Mark Thompson’s mother. I open the envelope and read it. Dear Rachel, I’m not asking you to forgive what my son did. I just hope that you will be happy. My son was sick. I failed to notice that. As a mother, I’m truly sorry. When I finish reading the letter, tears overflow, but they’re not tears of sadness.
“Are you going to write back?” David asks, peering over from the side.
I shake my head. “No, but I received her feelings.” No longer imprisoned by the past. “I’m moving forward now.”
On the weekend, we go to the park as a family. Lily rides the swing, pumping high. Her laughter echoes in the blue sky. David and I sit on the bench, holding hands.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?”
“For protecting me that night.”
David squeezes my hand tightly. “Thank you, too, for saying, ‘Let’s fight together.’ From now on, together, no matter what.”
“Yes,” I promise.
Lily looks back and waves at us. “Mommy, Daddy, look! I can swing really high!” We smile and wave back. A warm spring breeze is blowing. Cherry blossom petals dance down and scatter on the grass. I rest my head on David’s shoulder. He pulls me close. “Happy?” he asks.
“Yes, very much so.”
A real family isn’t about blood ties. It’s about accepting each other’s wounds and walking together, showing each other our weaknesses, and supporting each other. We learned that.
Lily gets off the swing and runs over. “Mommy, Daddy, I’m hungry!”
“Then let’s go get ice cream!” David says.
“Yay!” Lily takes our hands and pulls us. David and I look at each other and laugh. The three of us walk through the park, holding hands. This is our family. Not perfect, but real. And that is enough.
Looking up at the sky, a cloudless blue sky stretches overhead. A new season is beginning. The shadows of the past no longer chase us. We face forward and walk together. From now on, always.
