The police officer had a worn, hardened face that housed kind eyes. She kept her voice calm and measured as she spoke to Pam, who was examining every inch of her appearance: her dark hair tied back into a conservative french braid, her black SPD jacket that bulged where it met her holster, the way her foot tapped absently against the leg of the leg of the hard plastic chair next to Pam's bed.

She had been answering each question with a couple of words at the most. She could feel the officer skirting progressively closer to the real issue, but she was easing into the conversation with perfunctory questions. How are you feeling? That man, is he a friend of yours? Do you live around here? Do you have a place to stay?

Pam kept her gaze fixed on the officer's clunky black boots as her mind wandered far away. She was always with Roy. Even when they were at work, he was always downstairs in the warehouse, just an elevator ride away. She rarely saw her family anymore, and when she did, they usually went to dinner with her parents on one side of the table and herself and Roy on the other. When she saw her girlfriends, it was almost invariably on some kind of double date with her and Roy. Whenever he had an outburst, he would leave for a few hours at the most, but she was always assured of his imminent return. It was only now that Roy did not know where she was and would not find her obediently cooking dinner as though nothing had happened when he came home that she realized how his presence weighed on her. Even when they were not occupying the same physical space, she could feel him lurking in the back of her mind, like a dark shadow looming over her.

Jim's voice reverberated in her mind as the police officer spoke. You shouldn't have to be scared of someone you love.

Was she scared of him?

She had to acknowledge to herself that deep down, she was wondering where he was at that moment, what would happen when he came home to an empty apartment. Whether he would find her. Whether he would hurt her.

"Pam? Pam!"

Pam blinked in surprise and stared blankly at the police officer.

"Did you hear my question?"

Pam felt her face reddening. "Sorry—no."

"I have to ask how you sustained these injuries."

"I… um… I fell," Pam muttered lamely, but her voice shook as she forced out one of her usual lies. The truth hovered in the air between them, ready for Pam to put it into words.

The officer sighed and tried again. "Pam, are you safe at home?"

Safe? Thought Pam. She couldn't focus; a dull ache had settled into her head and ribs. What is safe supposed to feel like? Surely the fear that was overwhelming her in this moment was not a sign she was "safe" at home. But there was always fear.

The Roy she fell in love with in high school was sweet, goofy, spontaneous. Things were good when she could hold onto this side of him. But the monster was always lurking beneath the surface, ready to strike. Perhaps she had grown so used to carrying around the fear that she no longer noticed it wearing on her.

"You didn't fall, Pam," the officer said quietly, suddenly leaning in and dropping her professional manner. "I know this is scary. But I can't help you if you don't tell me what happened."

Pam swallowed and took a deep, shaky breath. You shouldn't have to be scared of someone you love, Jim's voice whispered in her mind again.

Pam had no plan. She had no other place to live. She knew Roy would be able to remove her access to their bank account. She had nothing but some makeup and a toothbrush and a change of clothes in a duffel bag in the back of Jim's car. But something had snapped inside her. She was done trying to be perfect at home. She was done waiting for Roy to fly off the handle, done quietly cleaning her wounds after he went to sleep and covering her bruises with makeup and a long sleeved shirt the next day at work.

"It was my fiance," she blurted suddenly, and she was surprised to find that her voice was steady and clear. "Roy Anderson. He did this to me. And it wasn't the first time."

Pam's insides seemed to have fallen through the floor, leaving her completely hollow. She was shell-shocked at what she had just said, the momentous nature of the decision she had just made. Perhaps her eyes had betrayed how overwhelmed she suddenly felt, because the officer reached out and placed a comforting hand on Pam's arm.

"Thank you," she said in a relieved tone, "For telling me that. That took serious guts."

Pam nodded, trying to get herself to believe this.

"So. Where do you think we can find this Roy?"

Jim was determinedly avoiding the gaze of the police officer staring him down. The man was even taller than Jim, powerfully built, with harsh features and dark, unreadable eyes. Jim was acutely aware that this man wanted to know some of the most painful, personal details of his friend's life, not to mention that he could probably tackle Jim to the ground in an instant with one hand tied behind his back.

"We ran her fiance through the system and saw another complaint lodged against him earlier today. How long has this been going on?" the officer asked.

"I don't know. I saw the bruises this afternoon. Probably awhile." Maybe years. Guilt once again stirred in the pit of his stomach. "I'm the one who called you guys earlier."

Once Jim had given the officer all the information he had on Roy, his gaze drifted down to the floor and he said shamefully, "He did this to her after the police came to their apartment. I set him off."

The officer surprised them by reaching out and clapping him bracingly on the shoulder. Jim finally locked eyes with the man. "You did the right thing calling and bringing her here, son. You can't blame yourself for this. People like Roy—that is to say, abusers—can be unpredictable, but his actions are no one's fault but his own."

Jim nodded, his eyes suddenly stinging with tears. He was just so tired and angry and overwhelmed. He blinked back the tears, his face and neck reddening with embarrassment.

The officer politely averted his own gaze to the floor and gave Jim a few moments to compose himself. Then he asked, "Does your friend have a safe place to stay after she gets discharged tonight?"

"I'm gonna take her to my place," Jim answered, steadying himself.

"Good. We're going to look into this guy. If you have any questions or any more information you can give us, or if he comes near you guys tonight, don't hesitate to call me." The officer pulled a card out of his breast pocket and handed it to Jim, who clutched it in his shaking hands like a lifeline. "In the meantime, we're gonna get a search warrant for the apartment. We'll send some people to the warehouse at your office tomorrow in case Roy is dumb enough to show up to work. That way we can take him into custody there."

At that moment, the officer's partner stepped out of Pam's room, pulling the door shut gently behind her. Each of the officers shook Jim's hand and murmured polite words of comfort. Jim slumped against the wall and watched the pair's retreating backs as they disappeared down the hall. Then he took a deep breath and pushed open the door to Pam's room.

Pam was staring alertly up at him, and all the anger and resistance from before was gone from her face. She looked, if anything, resolute. "I did it," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I told her everything."

Jim sat down on the end of her bed. The silence enveloping the crisp white room was less tense then it had been before. "That's good," he said earnestly, trying to pack into his words the relief he felt that their statements would align, that the police were going to try and find Roy that night. "You made the right choice. I'm really proud of you, Pam."

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and a mutual understanding and gratitude seemed to pass through the air between them before each of them looked away again. Jim felt the usual flutter in his stomach he had come to associate with looking directly into Pam's eyes. He always had to remind himself to keep a straight face when this happened. Now more than ever, Pam did not need anything else on her plate. He wouldn't be something else she had to worry about.