Page 193 of Joker
Four.
Three.
A hand closes around my wrist.
Everything inside me stops. Not metaphorically. Actually stops.
Because I know that grip. I know the shape of it. The entitlement in it. The confidence.
The sheer, sick certainty of a man who has spent too long believing every part of you belongs under his hand.
My body goes rigid before my mind catches up.
I turn. And there he is.
Cal.
For half a second, the whole world disappears. Not the store. Not the screaming. Not Lexi crying in my arms. Not Mac shouting somewhere to my left.
Just him. His face. His eyes.
That same controlled, deadly calm I used to spend entire nights trying to read so I could predict which version of him was about to walk through the bedroom door.
He smiles at me. Like this is a reunion. Like this is intimate. Like I should be happy to see him.
My stomach heaves so hard I nearly gag.
“There you are,” he says softly.
No.
No no no no no.
This is not happening.
He found us anyway.
Lexi whimpers, pressing herself harder into me.
Cal’s eyes flick to her.
And God, that is somehow worse.
Because there’s no love in the look. No warmth. No paternal softness. No real affection. Just possession. Just calculation.
Just a man looking at something he thinks he’s owed.
“Come on, bird,” he says, grip tightening on my wrist hard enough to hurt. “Enough games.”
My entire body reacts at once. Panic. Terror. Adrenaline. Pure animal desperation.
I wrench backward so hard my shoulder screams. “Don’t touch me!”
His smile slips. Only slightly.
The hand on my wrist tightens harder. And somewhere in the chaos around us, one horrible thought keeps screaming louder than all the rest.
He’s touching me while I’m holding my daughter.
