I used to believe towns could be good.
Mine was.
Small enough that people knew my name, big enough that I felt useful. I worked at a clinic on the east side—the kind of place that smelled like antiseptic and old hope. We didn't save lives every day, but we helped enough to sleep at night. I liked that. I liked knowing where my hands had been, what they'd touched, what they'd fixed.
Life was simple then.
I had routines. Morning coffee before sunrise. Late shifts. Quiet evenings with Lauretta curled beside me, her head on my chest like she trusted my heartbeat to keep her safe. I was saving for a ring. I hadn't told her yet. I wanted it to be right. I wanted her to feel chosen.
That was my first mistake.
It started small. It always does.
A man came into the clinic one afternoon wearing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He said he had a business proposal. Said he knew I handled inventory. Said it would be easy money.
I listened. That was my second mistake.
They wanted me to help push drugs through the clinic. Fake ones. Cheap substitutes dressed up as medicine. The kind that don't heal—just delay death long enough for it to be profitable.
I laughed at first. Thought it was a joke.
Then he leaned closer and told me how much they'd pay.
I told him no.
He smiled again. Thinner this time. "Think about it."
"I already did," I said. "Get out."
For a while, nothing happened. I almost convinced myself I was paranoid.
Then the looks started. People I didn't know watching me too closely. A car that lingered outside the clinic longer than necessary. Lauretta told me I was imagining things. Said I worked too much. Said I needed rest.
I should've listened to my instincts instead of her voice.
The man came back two weeks later. This time he wasn't alone.
They threatened me. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough to make the message clear.
I still said no.
The next morning, I was walking to work when everything ended.
He came out of nowhere.
I didn't recognize him at first. Just a body colliding with mine, a hand grabbing my collar, breath hot with anger I'd never earned. He swung. I dodged. Years of training kicked in—discipline drilled into muscle memory.
I tried to disengage.
He didn't let me.
The fight spilled into the street. People gathered. Phones came out. No one helped. They never do.
He pulled a knife.
That's the part they forget.
I disarmed him. Pushed him back. He fell wrong. Hit his head on the pavement.
The sound still lives in my skull.
Silence followed. Then screaming.
Someone yelled, "You killed him."
Just like that, the word wrapped itself around my name.
Murderer.
I knelt beside him. Checked his pulse. Nothing.
I remember thinking how light the world felt. Like gravity had been switched off. Like I'd stepped outside my own body and was watching a life break apart.
The police came. Questions followed. Statements. Replays. Footage cut at the wrong moments. Angles that made me look like the aggressor.
The knife disappeared.
Funny how evidence does that when money is involved.
The town turned fast. Faster than I thought possible. People I'd helped crossed the street to avoid me. Parents pulled their children closer when I walked by. The clinic suspended me "pending investigation."
Lauretta stopped answering my calls.
When she finally did, her voice was cold.
"I can't do this," she said.
"Do what?" I asked.
"Be with a man capable of that."
I laughed then. A broken sound. "You know me."
"I thought I did."
That night, someone leaked my details. Address. Records. Everything. I found out later Lauretta had done it. She was promised money. Safety. Protection.
She chose herself.
I would've understood if she'd been honest.
But betrayal cuts deeper when it comes from the person you planned a future with.
Threats followed. Notes slipped under my door. A warning that the next time, there wouldn't be witnesses. I packed a bag. Left before dawn. Didn't look back.
That's how I ended up here. A quieter town. A smaller life.
I vowed never to trust again. Especially not women. Especially not softness. Lauretta had taken every effort I made to protect her and sold it like it meant nothing.
I learned the truth too late:
Love doesn't protect you.
It exposes you.
And then Lily moved in next door.
And everything I swore I'd never feel again started bleeding back into my chest.