Page 1 of Joker

I know the exact sound his truck makes when it turns onto our street.

That low rumble, like something heavy dragging across pavement, settles in my chest long before the headlights ever cut through the front windows. I used to run to the door when I heard it. Back when that sound meant he was home. Back when home didn’t feel like something I had to survive.

Now it means I have seconds to decide which version of my husband is about to walk through that door.

I stand in the kitchen, one hand gripping the edge of the counter so hard my fingers ache, the other pressed flat against my stomach like I can keep the panic from climbing any higher.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Lexi is in her room down the hall, humming softly to herself while she lines up her stuffed animals on the bed. She does that when she’s trying to be good. When she thinks being quiet makes things better.

God, I hate that she’s learned that.

I glance at the clock on the microwave.

Two hours. He’s been gone two hours.

That was supposed to be enough time. It has to be enough time.

My eyes flick to the cabinet above the fridge, to the back corner where I’ve been slipping bills into a small envelope for months. Five dollars here. Ten there. Whatever I could tuck away without him noticing. Without setting him off.

It isn’t much. It isn’t enough. But it’s something. And something is better than nothing when you’re trying to run.

I swallow hard and force myself to move.

I grab my purse from the hook by the door, my heart already racing like I’ve done something wrong just by touching it. Everything I need is already inside. The envelope. A spare set of keys I had made months ago when he thought I was out grocery shopping. A burner phone I keep turned off and buried under tissues.

I didn’t plan this perfectly. I don’t have a perfect escape. But I can’t do this anymore.

I can’t wake up every day wondering if today is the day he finally snaps in a way I can’t talk him down from. I can’t keep pretending that the way he looks at me now is anything close to love.

It didn’t start like this.

We were stupid and fast and so sure of each other. He was charming. Confident. Protective in a way that made me feel safe instead of watched. We got married quicker than my dadwanted, quicker than anyone thought was smart, but I didn’t care. I thought I knew him.

I thought I was choosing a life.

Not a cage.

The changes were small at first. A comment here. A sharp tone there.

He didn’t like the way I dressed. Said it drew attention. Said other men looked too long. He didn’t like my friends. Said they didn’t respect our marriage. Said they were a bad influence. He didn’t like how often I called my dad. Said I needed to focus onus.

It was always framed like concern. Like love. Like he just wanted what was best for me. And then one day I looked around and realized there wasn’t anyone left but him.

No friends. No family. No one checking in. No one to notice how quiet I’d gotten.

He monitors my phone now. Every call. Every message. Every contact.

If I reach out, he knows. If I even think about reaching out, I hear his voice in my head telling me exactly what will happen if I do.

“They’ll get in our business, Raven. You want that? You want your daddy sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong? We’re married. We handle our own problems.”

Our problems. Like I’m part of this. Like I chose any of it.

My chest tightens and I force myself to breathe through it.