I rang the doorbell that night and she answered. I can’t even remember her name but I remember her eyes widened when she saw me.
“You have to leave!” she whispered to me.
“Are you his wife?” I asked. She nodded to me and closed the door.
“You don’t want to confront him, babe,” she told me. “You need to go now!”
But I couldn't just go. I couldn’t just leave her there if she was afraid.
But she shook her head.
“I’ve been married to him since high school,” she told me. “And I know who you are. I know all of his women. He doesn't care to hide them anymore from me. He thinks he has me beaten down.”
If you want to think that I’m sort of slut or sub-human then you’re welcome to hun, but this woman was living with a true sub-human. His wife told me he had half a dozen girls working in porn at any given time. He’d use them until their shelf life expired. Then he’d move on.
“You need to leave and pretend you never came here!” his wife told me.
She went on to tell me that I wasn’t the first person to have discovered her house. There had been one other, a year ago. She had come knocking and had stormed the house during the day.
Robert had slapped her around a couple times, and then dragged her to his car.
When he came back, he hadn’t talked about her and pretended the whole thing had never happened.
“She never acted in porn after that. Just dropped off the face of the earth,” his wife told me. “I think he may have killed her, but I can’t go tell anyone because I have no proof.”
I still wanted to confront him. I could handle my own.
“Then he’ll kill me, so his secret never comes out,” she said.
And I saw desperation in her voice.
“I can take care of myself and my boy if you just leave,” she pleaded to me. “If you pretend that you never saw me. That you know nothing of this house.”
The look in her eyes I think is what convinced me to listen to her, you know?
I remember getting in the car and driving off.
But I didn’t go back home. I just kept driving. Left Los Angeles. Ended up in Vegas that night where I emptied our bank accounts the next morning, and moved all the money into a separate, new account.
I found a guy who changed my last name from White to Roman and made me an entirely new social security number and even gave me a 720 credit score.
Then I drove off.
I kept driving until I reached New York.
It was as far away from Robert as I could go.
And I started Man Chasers LLC. I don't know why I went out hunting for cheaters. Why the sole purpose of my job was to bring misery to men.
But it felt good. It felt damn good.
And now, either I go on the run again, or I sacrifice everything and everyone I’ve come to love to stay standing.
But I can’t just think about me.
I need to think about my baby. His baby.
No, it doesn’t sound right, does it?