Allie
The victim statement waited on my laptop for three hours before I wrote the first sentence.
I sat in the home office with my hands resting on the keyboard while the blank page stared back at me.
Outside, Chase’s security team moved through the morning routine. Cars arrived. Calls were answered. Plans changed because Olivia’s legal team had requested a public hearing on the same day as the deciding playoff game.
The timing felt deliberate.
My lawyer said it probably was not.
Court schedules did not care about hockey.
Trauma did not either.
Chase stood near the office window already dressed for the arena. His suit jacket remained folded over one arm. He should have left fifteen minutes ago.
“You are going to be late,” I said.
“I have time.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Coach knows.”
