Minerva tried the crying routine. "I just wanted closure."
"Closure doesn't involve trespassing," he said flatly. "You're lucky we're not cuffing you, but you are being cited for harassment. One more call, and you'll be arrested."
She went from crying to screaming in two seconds flat. "This is police corruption! He manipulated all of you."
They escorted her down the driveway while she yelled about fake love and lies, like it was an episode of bad reality TV.
When they finally drove off with her citation in hand, Rebecca looked at me, wide-eyed. "That's her."
"That's her," I said, picking up the spilled groceries. "And now you see why I have cameras."
The next morning, I went to the courthouse. My lawyer had already sent over the police reports, video files, and her history of showing up uninvited.
The judge barely looked up before signing the temporary restraining order. "Given her prior incidents, it's effective immediately," the clerk said. "She can't contact you, show up at your property, or mention you online for 60 days."
"Perfect," I said.
Billy texted me that night. "I heard what happened. Mom says the cops warned her that one more stunt means jail. Maybe this will finally wake her up."
I replied, "I doubt it, but at least it's official now."
A week later, Minerva's social media went dark. No more rants, no quotes about healing, nothing. Word was she had to start counseling as part of the citation's conditions. Landon had vanished completely, and her own parents were forcing her to pay rent if she wanted to keep staying with them.
Meanwhile, Rebecca and I kept building something real. We'd laugh about small things, plan trips, argue over who got to do the dishes, normal, boring peace.
One evening, she looked at me and said, "Do you ever think about her anymore?"
I smiled. "Only when the doorbell rings unexpectedly."
She laughed, leaned her head on my shoulder, and that was it. Closure.
Looking back, I realized Minerva never wanted love. She wanted control, a free ride, and an audience. When all three disappeared, so did she.
Now my house is quiet. My bills are lower. My peace is permanent. She once said, "You'll regret losing me." Turns out, I just regretted not losing her sooner. And this time, the door's locked, legally and emotionally.