I Dreamed the Perfect Blind Date Was Lying To Me Chapter 13

The day the case was filed was a regular Tuesday.

Clara submitted the paperwork to the court.

Julie didn’t attend. She was too nervous, so Clara told her to wait in her city.

I didn’t appear either, since I wasn’t a party to the case.

But I did one thing: I contacted a friend who ran a legal education social media account, not huge, but locally influential.

I pitched him a story angle: custody disputes in military families, the situation of ex-wives after divorce, and the problem of information hiding in dating.

He was interested but careful, no real names, no identifying details, everything anonymized.

The night the article went live, I sat at home eating takeout.

I watched the view count climb on my phone. Three thousand. Five thousand. Eight thousand.

In the comments, people started sharing their own experiences.

One woman said she too had been set up with someone who hid his marriage and child.

One woman said she lost her social circle and career after relocating with her military husband.

One woman said her child lived with her ex-husband who barely saw him, but she couldn’t get custody back.

I read them one by one. My fingers tightened around my fork.

Not because of Derek, but because of the system.

He was just a screw in that system.

In this system, a woman’s age was a defect, being single was a defect, not having children was a defect.

All those defects added up to someone who could be controlled.

And the people doing the controlling wore nice clothes, said nice things, passed the dishes at dinner, and smiled warmly at matchmakers like Mrs. Walsh.

I put down my fork, picked up my phone, and texted Julie.

[The article is up. Anonymized. Don’t worry. How are you doing over there?]

She replied quickly.

[Clara said he’s been served. He’s trying to find people to mediate a settlement.]

[What’s he offering?]

[More visitation time if I drop the case.]

My fingers paused over the keyboard.

[What do you think?]

She took a while to reply.

[I want Leo with me. Visits aren’t enough. I’m his mother. I’m literally his mother.]

I stared at that line. My eyes stung.

[Then don’t drop it.]

[I won’t.]

Another week passed.

One night, around eleven, I was at home reviewing a proposal when my doorbell camera sent an alert.

Someone was at my door.

My heart raced as I opened the app.

The hallway light was dim and the camera quality wasn’t great, but I could still see him.

Derek. He wore civilian clothes, standing outside my door with his head down and hands in his pockets.

He didn’t knock, he just stood there for about thirty seconds, then turned and walked away.

I stared at the screen, watching his back disappear down the hallway.

Cold sweat ran down my spine.

I grabbed my phone and called Clara. “He came to my door, didn’t knock, just stood there for thirty seconds, then left. I have the footage.”

Clara’s voice turned serious immediately. “Save the video. I’ll send a letter tomorrow. If he shows up again, we can apply for a protective order.”

“Okay.” I hung up and sat on the couch, hugging a pillow.

My hands were still cold.

He came to my door. Didn’t knock. Just stood there.

That wasn’t reconciliation, that was a warning: I know where you live.

I took a breath, stood up, walked to the kitchen, and poured a glass of water.

I took a sip. The water was cold as it went down my throat and into my stomach.

I wasn’t scared anymore.

Fear belonged to the dream version of me, the one who would lower her head, stay silent, and retreat to the kitchen.

The awake me wouldn’t.