My Divorced Husband kept forcing me to Re-unite, but he was on P@role

Amanda ends up gone. Marcus goes to prison. Marcus gets out, marries Crystal. Crystal falls down the stairs.

Accident. Marcus and I get married 6 months after Crystal passes. We’re married for 2 years. We divorce and now Marcus won’t leave me alone. I was next.

I understood that now with horrible clarity. I was supposed to be next, but I’d gotten away. I’d divorced him. And now he was trying to fix that mistake.

Friday morning came, the restraining order hearing. Patricia met me at the courthouse. I looked terrible. I hadn’t slept in 2 days. My eyes were puffy and red. The judge will see you in 20 minutes. Patricia said, “I’ve prepared all the documentation, including the information about Marcus’ criminal history. Will he be there, Marcus? He should be. He has the right to contest the order.” My stomach turned. I didn’t want to see him. Not now. Not ever again. We waited in a cold hallway outside the courtroom. Jennifer sat with me, holding my hand. Tyler had gone to my apartment to keep watch, make sure Marcus didn’t try anything while I was gone. Then I saw him. Marcus walked down the hallway like he owned the place.

Suit and tie, clean shaven, confident smile. He saw me and his smile widened.

Rachel, good to see you. Patricia stepped between us. Mr. Holloway, you’re not supposed to approach her. Relax, counselor. We’re in a courthouse. I’m just saying hello to my ex-wife. Former wife, I said, finding my voice. And you need to stay away from me. Something flickered across his face. Annoyance maybe or anger, but he covered it quickly. Covered it. That’s what we’re here to determine, isn’t it? Whether I’ve done anything wrong. You went to her friend’s house, Patricia said.

You’ve been showing up at her home uninvited. You’ve been texting and calling after she asked you to stop.

That’s harassment. Marcus shrugged.

That’s love. I love my wife. Is that a crime? Ex-wife, I repeated. We’re divorced. A mistake. Your mistake. One we can fix. A baiff called us into the courtroom before I could respond. The hearing was surreal. Patricia presented all our evidence. The texts, the flowers, Jennifer’s testimony about Marcus showing up at her house. The timeline of incidents. Then she brought up Marcus’ criminal record. Your honor, the petitioner recently learned that Mr.

Holloway served 8 years for manslaughter. His victim was his first wife, Amanda. There was also a second wife, Crystal, who passed in what was ruled an accident, though the circumstances are suspicious. Given this history and Mr. Holloway’s current stalking behavior, we believe Ms. Rachel is in imminent danger. The judge, a stern woman in her 60s, looked at Marcus over her glasses. Mr. Holloway, is it true you were convicted of manslaughter?

Yes, your honor. But I served my time. I paid my debt to society. That was 16 years ago. And your second wife, Crystal Morrison, a tragic accident. The police investigated thoroughly. They found no evidence of wrongdoing. Yet you didn’t think to inform Ms. Rachel about your past when you married her? Marcus hesitated. Just for a second. It wasn’t relevant to our relationship. I’d put that chapter of my life behind me. Not relevant. The judge’s voice was sharp.

You don’t think your wife had a right to know about your criminal history? I was afraid she’d judge me. That she wouldn’t give me a chance. The judge looked at me. Miss Rachel, did you know about Mr.

Holloway’s past when you married him?

No. Your honor, he lied to me. He told me he’d been divorced twice. He never mentioned Amanda or Crystal or prison.

The judge made notes. Then she looked back at Marcus. Mr. Holloway, why have you been contacting Ms. Rachel after she asked you to stop? Because I love her, your honor. Because I believe our marriage can be saved. Divorce doesn’t have to be the end. People reconcile all the time. Not when one party doesn’t want to reconcile. M. Rachel has made it clear she wants no contact with you.

Yet, you continue to show up at her home, send flowers, text her, call her.

You even went to her friend’s house.

Why? Marcus was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice had changed. Harder, colder. Because she’s mine. She’ll always be mine. She just needs to remember that. The courtroom went silent. Patricia looked at me with wide eyes. The baiff’s hand moved closer to his belt. The judge’s expression didn’t change, but I saw her jaw tighten. Mr.

Holloway. That kind of thinking is exactly why this court issues orders of protection. Ms. Rachel is not your property. She is not yours. She is a person with the right to choose who she wants in her life. And she has made it abundantly clear that she does not want you and hers. She signed the paperwork with a sharp flourish. Order of protection granted. Mr. Holloway. You are to have no contact with Miss Rachel.

No calls, no texts, no emails, no social media contact, no third party contact.

You are to stay at least 500 ft away from her home, her workplace, and any location where she may be. This order is effective immediately and will remain in place for 2 years. Violation of this order is a criminal offense and will result in your arrest. Do you understand? Marcus’ face had gone blank.

No emotion at all. That’s when I knew he was truly dangerous. I understand your honor. Furthermore, I’m ordering the court to notify your parole officer about this proceeding. Let’s see if they have any concerns about your behavior.

We left the courthouse through a side exit. Patricia insisted on it. She didn’t want Marcus following us to the parking lot. That went well, she said, though her voice was shaky. The order is solid. He violates it, he goes to jail.

Did you hear what he said? Jennifer asked. That she’s his. That’s psychopath talk. I know, Patricia said. Which is why I’m also recommending you consider relocating, Rachel. At least temporarily. Until his parole officer can intervene. I can’t just leave my life, my job, my apartment. Your life won’t matter if you’re not alive to live it. The words hit like a slap. That evening, I started packing. Not everything, just essentials. Clothes, laptop, important documents. I didn’t know where I’d go yet, but I knew I couldn’t stay in my apartment.

Jennifer’s place was too obvious. My parents lived 3 hours away in Connecticut, but Marcus knew where they live. He’d been there for Thanksgiving once. I called my cousin Danielle in Boston. We weren’t super close, but she’d always liked me. “Of course, you can stay with me,” she said immediately when I explained the situation. “Stay as long as you need. I have a spare bedroom. I told my boss I had a family emergency and needed to work remotely for a while. He was understanding, said to take all the time I needed. By Saturday evening, I was loading Tyler’s truck with my stuff. Jennifer and Tyler were driving me to Boston. They wouldn’t let me go alone. That’s when my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer, but something made me pick up.

Miss Rachel, this is Officer Ramirez. We spoke earlier this week. Yes, I remember. I wanted to give you an update. We contacted Marcus Holloway’s parole officer. They brought him in for a meeting this morning, and he’s being placed under stricter supervision. Daily check-ins, GPS monitoring. The parole board is considering whether to revoke his parole entirely, but that could take time. What does that mean for me? It means he’s being watched. If he violates the restraining order, we’ll know immediately. But Miss Rachel, you should know something else. My heart sank.

What? When Marcus left the parole office this afternoon, he made a comment to his officer. He said, “She can’t hide from me forever. We don’t know if he was referring to you, but given the timing, he was definitely talking about me.

That’s what we think, too, which is why I’m calling. Where are you right now?

I’m leaving town. Going to stay with family in Boston. Good. That’s good.

Don’t tell anyone where you’re going.

Not friends. Not co-workers. Nobody who might accidentally tell Marcus. I won’t.

And Rachel. Keep your phone on. Stay in touch with us. If anything happens, anything at all. Call 911 immediately. I hung up, my hands shaking worse than ever. What did he say? Jennifer asked. I told her about Marcus’s comment, about the GPS monitoring, about everything. We need to leave now, Tyler said. Right now before it gets dark. We threw the last of my stuff in the truck and got on the road. I watched my apartment building disappear in the side mirror. I’d lived there for 4 years since right after the divorce. It had been my safe space, my fresh start. Now I was running. The drive to Boston took 4 hours. I spent most of it staring out the window, jumping every time a car got too close.

Behind us, Tyler noticed. It’s okay. He doesn’t know we’re leaving. He doesn’t know where we’re going. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Marcus knew everything, that he was always one step ahead. Danielle lived in a nice brownstone in Back Bay. Third floor, security entrance. Doorman. You’ll be safe here, she said as she showed me the spare bedroom. The building has cameras everywhere. Nobody gets in without checking with the front desk first. I wanted to believe her. That first night in Boston, I barely slept. Every sound was Marcus. Every footstep in the hallway, every door closing somewhere in the building. Jennifer and Tyler stayed until Sunday afternoon. They had to get back to They are kids. Call me every day, Jennifer said, hugging me tight.