My teenage daughter pretended to be 20 online so she could build a serious relationship with a 23-year-old man by catfishing him. This generation is completely whack. I remember being 14 and still having braces and wearing ugly blue eyeshadow to school everyday. But this was before social media, so all of my friends were just as ugly as me, but on my daughter’s 15th birthday, we went out to Chili’s and what she wore was shocking.
Not because it was anything crazy revealing. It was just a corset top and some cargo pants. But it made me realize the pressure she had to grow up faster. She even did her makeup and I swear my baby Anelise looked 23 years old. And as we sat down, the waiter began to flirt with her. I wasn’t really paying attention because I figured she’d turn him down or just act really shy.
But in the corner of my eye, I saw her batting her eyes and looking up at him with a single finger twirling her hair. Motherly rage flooded my system. I literally saw the bulge in his pants. Hey, do you guys have a birthday candle with the number 15 because that’s how old my daughter is turning today. Luckily, the guy went super red and started stammering, so I knew that he had simply been blindsided and we even got switched to a new waiter.
As for my daughter, I didn’t want to ruin her birthday, so I let her change the topic and we just talked about something else. But when she woke up the next day, I asked her what the f she thought she was doing, that she could wear what she wanted. But there was no way I’d ever let her date anyone over the age of 17.
She did that teenage angst thing where they pinched the bridge of their nose and rolled their eyes like it was the most original move in the book. So, I grabbed her phone and unlocked it with her facial recognition. This time, something in her eyes changed. She begged me not to go through it. It was a good effort, but not good enough.
Honey, I love you. And if you were a mother, you’d do the same thing. I then walked into my room and locked the door. There wasn’t anything too bad. I did find what people call thirst traps on her Tik Tok, but her account was private and her following was mostly girls. The worrying part was her Instagram.
There were bikini pictures plastered everywhere with extremely sexual songs and angles. The most disturbing part was they were all taken on vacations that I took her on. Except I obviously hadn’t taken any of the photos. In her texts were a bunch of guys from her high school that she was very obviously leading on.
But amongst them all, one stood out. She had no mutuals with him and in his bio was the name of a nearby university. My heart dropped. They had met a few months back when she was 14 after she had met him in a cafe and they texted for months before it suddenly stopped a few weeks ago.
Well, first I needed to make sure that my suspicions were correct. I handed her back the phone and pretended like I was too old to have been able to find anything. I literally saw her smirk and she even apologized for flirting with the guy yesterday. That night I went to the guy’s college. It was a pretty small campus and it was a Saturday, so I figured that he couldn’t be far.
That’s when I saw him outside a frat house with Greek letters completely topless dejing with a bottle of beer in his hand. I walked up the stairs and tapped him on the shoulder. Um, excuse me. Do you go here? And I guess he thought I was some undercover cop. Because he immediately lifted up his hands and showed me his ID. He was 23 years old. My stomach twisted.
I slapped him across the face. And because his friends were too scared to do anything, they let me drag him down the stairs by the ear like a dog without intervening. I took advantage of the shock and alcohol that was still in his system and grabbed the beer bottle, ready to knock it across his head.
Yo, man, what are you doing? I don’t want any trouble. So, you don’t want any trouble? But you’re cool with dating a 15-year-old girl. I saw confusion sweep across his rworded fat boy face. One that you can’t fake. Anelise? I asked. Huh? She’s 20 and hot as heck. I slapped him again. “Yo, man, what the f?” he shouted before whipping out his big black iPhone as evidence.
I read their texts right there, plain as day, she had told him she was a 20-year-old girl. And the second I confirmed that it was my teenage daughter, he blocked her. I drove home that night seeing Red. My baby girl wanted to act as jailbait like it’s cute. Then she had another thing coming. This time, I didn’t wait until the next day, I simply shook her awake.
Mom, what? So, I just met Pedro. Her eyes were immediately filled with fear. But instead of trying to defend herself or yelling at me for being a spy, she burst into tears and wrapped her arms around me. Even through the anger, I instinctively stroked her hair first. Sat down in the bed beside her and decided that even she deserves to be listened to.
But what she said next just angered me even more. Mom, I met up with him, but he didn’t show up. And his friend, he she was then interrupted by bursting into tears again. I thought he was a good person. Mom, I’m sorry. It didn’t take long to piece together what she was saying. Someone had stolen my daughter’s innocence, and I was going to make them pay.
I circled the university pool area the following evening, keeping a safe distance while recording the friend Marcus’ predatory routine through my phone’s Zoom lens. He leaned in close to a petite blonde girl who couldn’t have been more than 18, whispering something that made her giggle nervously, her cheeks flushing. His hand slid from her back to her waist with practiced ease, pulling her closer as if testing boundaries.
I zoomed in, capturing every moment of his calculated manipulation, my blood boiling as I recognized the same tactics Anelise had described. The blond’s friend approached, looking concerned, and Marcus immediately switched his demeanor like flipping a switch, stepping back slightly and adopting a casual, almost brotherly stance.
The performance was Oscar worthy. As soon as the friend wandered back to the snack table, he was right back at it. This time, offering the girl another drink from a silver flask he pulled from his pocket. My stomach turned violently as I watched him add something to her cup when she glanced away at a commotion by the diving board.
This was the exact playbook he’d used on Anelise. I’d seen enough. I pocketed my phone and marched toward them, channeling every ounce of maternal fury in my 5’6 frame. Just as I approached, a burly fraternity brother with a crew cut stepped directly into my path, his muscled arms crossed over his chest.
“Hey, you don’t look like a student,” he said, eyeing my mom jeans and sensible shoes with suspicion. “Who are you with?” I hadn’t planned for this obstacle. I’m looking for my nephew, Pedro Martinez, I improvised, forcing a casual smile. He told me to meet him out here. The guy’s eyes narrowed skeptically. Pedro Alvarez. He’s inside.
Great, thanks, I said brightly, attempting to step around him, but he shifted to block me again, his movement fluid despite his size. Actually, why don’t I take you to him? He gripped my arm firmly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear I wasn’t getting past him alone. I glanced back at Marcus, who was now leading the blonde girl toward a side door of the house, his hand possessively on the small of her back.
My window of opportunity was closing fast. Fine, I conceded, allowing myself to be escorted back inside the crowded beer soaked house. The frat brother guided me through rooms packed with dancing students, his hand still firmly on my arm. When we reached the kitchen, Pedro was nowhere to be seen among the beer pong players and couples making out against the refrigerator.
“Looks like he stepped out,” the guy said, his tone making it clear he knew I’d invented the connection. “Maybe you should come back another time,” I nodded, figning defeat, and headed for the front door, the bass heavy music thumping in my chest. Once outside, I circled around to the side of the house where I’d seen Marcus taking the girl.
There was a separate entrance there, likely to a basement or private room. I tried the door handle, locked, cursing under my breath. I peered through a small window smudged with fingerprints. The basement was dimly lit with colored LED strips, but I could make out a seating area with several people lounging on mismatched couches.
No sign of Marcus or the blonde. I needed a new approach. I couldn’t just break in, and I couldn’t risk getting thrown out before gathering more evidence. I returned to my car and called Anelise, my heart racing. Mom, she answered immediately, her voice tight with worry. Are you okay? I’m fine, I assured her, watching the frat house for any sign of Marcus.
But I need more information about him. Did he ever mention where he lives? Is it in the fraternity house or somewhere else? He said something about having an apartment off campus, she replied after a moment’s hesitation. He bragged about how his dad pays for it so he doesn’t have to live with the peasants in the frat house.
Did he say where? Anything about the building or the street? I pressed already starting my car. Cedar Street, she said with surprising confidence. I remember because that’s where he took me. It was a blue building with a coffee shop on the first floor. Apartment 3B. You’re absolutely sure. Positive. Mom, what are you going to do? Her voice trembled slightly.
I hesitated, not wanting to worry her more. I’m just gathering information right now. I’ll be home soon. Promise me you won’t do anything crazy, she pleaded, suddenly sounding much younger than 15. I promise I’ll be careful, I said carefully, avoiding a direct answer. Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in. I love you. I hung up and pulled up a map on my phone.
Cedar Street was only a few blocks from campus. I drove there slowly, scanning the buildings until I spotted a three-story blue Victorian converted into apartments with a darkened coffee shop on the ground floor. I parked across the street and waited, watching the entrance, the car’s heater barely cutting through the evening chill.
My plan was simple. confront Marcus directly, record the conversation and get him to admit what he’d done to Anelise and other girls. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was all I had. Around midnight, a group of people approached the building, laughing loudly and passing a bottle between them. Through my car window, I recognized Marcus’ athletic build among them, his arm wrapped possessively around the blonde girl from the pool.
She was stumbling slightly, leaning against him for support. Her movements uncoordinated in a way that seemed more than just hammered. Three other guys followed them, their rockous laughter echoing in the quiet street. My heart raced with renewed anger. This wasn’t just about Anelise anymore. That girl was in danger right now.
I got out of my car and crossed the street, approaching the group as they reached the building entrance. “Mark is right,” I called out, my voice steady despite my racing pulse. He turned, confusion crossing his face as he tried to place me in the dim streetlight. “Do I know you?” “No, but I know you,” I replied, stepping closer until I could smell the whiskey on his breath. “I’m Anelise’s mother.
” His expression shifted from confusion to recognition to fear in quick succession. The blonde girl looked up at him through unfocused eyes. “Who’s Anelise?” she mumbled, her words slurring together. “Nobody,” Marcus said quickly, then turned to his friends. “Guys, take Britney upstairs. I’ll handle this.” One of the other men took the blond’s arm, but I stepped forward, blocking their path.
“Britty, do you know these men?” I asked her directly, trying to make eye contact. She blinked slowly, swaying slightly. “Marcus is in my sight class. We’re having an afterparty.” “She’s fine,” Marcus snapped, irritation flashing in his eyes. Just had a few drinks. “Mind your own business, like you minded your own business when you drugged my 15-year-old daughter.
” I kept my voice low but intense, watching his friend’s reactions. His friends exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Yo, Marcus, what’s she talking about?” one of them asked. A tall guy with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. She’s crazy,” Marcus insisted, his casual demeanor slipping. “I don’t know any 15-year-olds.
” I pulled out my phone and showed them the screenshot I’d taken from Pedro’s Instagram. A photo of Marcus with his arm around Anelise at what looked like a campus cafe. “This is my daughter. She’s 15. You gave her a drugged drink and tried to assault her 2 weeks ago. The atmosphere changed instantly.
One of Marcus’ friends let go of Britney’s arm and stepped back, his expression troubled. “Dude, is that true?” he asked Marcus, who was now visibly sweating despite the cool night air. “Of course not,” Marcus sputtered, running a hand through his gelled hair. “She came on to me. She said she was in college.
” So, you admit you know her? I pressed, seizing on his mistake. Marcus realized his error too late. His friends were now looking at him with undisguised suspicion, creating distance between themselves and him. I think Britney should come with me, I said, reaching for the girl’s hand. I can call her a cab or drive her home.
No way, Marcus said, grabbing Britney’s arm possessively, his fingers digging into her skin. She’s with me. Actually, one of his friends interjected, the tallest one with kind eyes. Maybe we should all call it a night. He turned to Britney. Where do you live? We can get you an Uber. Marcus’ face contorted with anger. What the hell, Jason? You’re taking her side.
I’m not taking sides, Jason replied calmly. But if what she’s saying is true, “It’s bullshit,” Marcus shouted, his voice echoing down the empty street. Britney flinched at his outburst, seeming to sober up slightly. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking around in confusion, her mascara smudged beneath her eyes. I addressed her directly, keeping my voice gentle.
“Brittney, I’m concerned that Marcus may have put something in your drink. It happened to my daughter, and I don’t want it to happen to you.” Her eyes widened. “What? She’s lying?” Marcus insisted, but his voice lacked conviction. “I saw him add something to your cup by the pool,” I said. “I have it on video.
That was stretching the truth. My video wasn’t clear enough to definitively show him drugging her drink. But the bluff worked. Britney pulled away from Marcus, stumbling toward Jason. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice small and frightened. Marcus lunged forward suddenly, grabbing my phone from my hand. “Give me that. Delete that video.
” I yanked back, but he was stronger. In the struggle, my phone fell to the concrete sidewalk with a sickening crack. Before I could retrieve it, Marcus stomped on it deliberately, shattering the screen under his expensive sneaker. “You psycho!” I shouted, pushing him back with both hands. He shoved me in return harder than I expected, sending me sprawling onto the rough concrete.
Pain shot through my wrist as I tried to break my fall. “Marcus, what the hell?” Jason yelled, stepping between us. “You can’t hit someone’s mom, man. She’s threatening me,” Marcus shouted, his face contorted with rage. “She’s been stalking me,” Jason helped me to my feet while another friend held Marcus back, struggling against his attempts to break free.
“I’m calling the police,” I said, cradling my throbbing wrist. “Go ahead,” Marcus sneered, his handsome face ugly with hatred. “Tell them how you’ve been following me around campus, harassing me. See who they believe. A respected student or some crazy helicopter mom?” He had a point that made my stomach sink. Without my phone and the video evidence, it would be my word against his, and he had friends who could back up his story that I’d approached him aggressively.
Jason seemed to sense my dilemma. “Look,” he said quietly, leaning close so Marcus couldn’t hear. “I’ve heard rumors about Marcus before. This isn’t the first time.” “Then help me,” I pleaded. “That girl needs to get home safely, and my daughter deserves justice.” Jason nodded, his expression resolute. “I’ll make sure Britney gets home, okay,” he hesitated, then added.
“And I know some other girls who’ve had experiences with Marcus. I can put you in touch with them. It wasn’t everything I wanted, but it was a start. I gave Jason my email address, and he promised to contact me the next day.” As I drove home with a broken phone and throbbing wrist, I realized this was going to be harder than I thought.
Marcus was protected by his friends, by his father’s money, by a system that often failed to believe young women. But I wasn’t giving up. When I arrived home, Anelise was waiting up for me, pacing the living room in her fuzzy pajamas, her face pale with worry. “Mom,” she cried when I walked in. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours.
What happened to your wrist?” I explained everything, finding Marcus, the confrontation, my broken phone, and Jason’s promise to help. “This is all my fault,” Analise said, tears welling in her eyes. “No,” I said firmly, taking her hands in mine. what Marcus did, what he tried to do. That’s not your fault. Yes, you made some poor choices, but he’s the adult who tried to take advantage of a young girl.
That’s on him, not you.” She nodded, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her pajama top. “So, what do we do now?” “Now,” I said, summoning confidence I didn’t entirely feel. “We build a case. We find other victims, gather evidence, and make sure Marcus can’t hurt anyone else.” The next morning, I took Anelise to school myself, making her promise to come straight home afterward.
My wrist wasn’t broken, just badly sprained, according to the urgent care doctor. So, I wrapped it tightly and went to work with a new burner phone I’d picked up on the way. By lunchtime, I had an email from Jason with contact information for three other young women who’d had encounters with Marcus. All were college freshmen.
All described similar experiences. Drinks that tasted strange, memory gaps, waking up in Marcus’ apartment confused and disoriented. None had reported him officially. One girl, Vanessa, wrote that she’d tried to tell her resident adviser, but was discouraged when she learned about Marcus’ father’s connections to the university board of trustees.
Another, Talia, said she’d been too ashamed and blamed herself for drinking too much. I reached out to each of them, explaining who I was and why I was investigating Marcus. Two responded almost immediately, agreeing to meet me that weekend at a coffee shop off campus. When I picked up Anelise from school that afternoon, she seemed different, quieter, more withdrawn, her usual animated chatter absent.
“Everything okay?” I asked as we drove home through the autumn tinged streets. She stared out the window, watching the scenery blur past. “Everyone at school knows something happened. Not the details, but they know I’m not allowed on social media anymore and that you took my phone.
They’re all talking about me.” My heart sank. I’m sorry, honey. Kids can be cruel. It’s not just that, she said, turning to face me with alarm in her eyes. Khloe showed me messages from this college guy she’s been talking to. Mom, I think it’s Marcus. I nearly slammed on the brakes. What? How would he know Khloe? He DMs random girls on Instagram. That’s how he found me, too.
She looked down at her hands. I didn’t meet him at a cafe. I was too embarrassed to tell you the truth. He messaged me after I commented on one of Pedro’s posts. She turned to me, her eyes filled with fear. What if he’s targeting my friends to get back at me? This was escalating faster than I’d anticipated.
Marcus wasn’t just a predator. He was vindictive and calculating. Show me the messages,” I said, pulling into our driveway. When we got home, Anelise used my laptop to log into Khloe’s Instagram account. Apparently, the girls all shared passwords, something we’d need to discuss later. Sure enough, there were messages from a user named Marcus DJW, Wright, complimenting Khloe’s photos and asking where she went to school.
Call Chloe right now, I instructed. Tell her everything. Make sure she blocks him immediately. While Anelise called her friend, I checked my email again. There was a new message from Jason. Marcus knows you’re talking to people. He’s freaking out, threatening anyone who speaks to you. Be careful. He has a temper.
I forwarded the email to my personal account and deleted it from the laptop, not wanting to worry Anelise more than necessary. But I was worried. This was no longer just about getting justice for what had happened. It was about protecting Anelise and her friends from further harm. The next day, I met Vanessa and Talia at the coffee shop as planned.
Both were barely older than Anelise, young women just starting their college experience, already traumatized by someone who should have been their peer. “I never reported it because I was drinking underage,” Vanessa explained, her hands wrapped tightly around her mug of chai latte. “And I willingly went to his apartment.
I thought no one would believe me.” Same, Talia nodded, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Plus, everyone knows his dad is on the board of trustees. Marcus always brags about how he can get away with anything. Not anymore, I said firmly. Together, our stories are stronger. Would you be willing to make official statements if it came to that? They exchanged nervous glances.
I don’t know, Vanessa said, her voice barely above a whisp. What if he retaliates? He knows where I live. We’re in the same dorm building. And what about our parents? Talia added, mine would call me if they found out I was at a frat party. I understood their fears all too well. These were the same reasons so many young women never reported their assaults.
the same reasons predators like Marcus continued to operate with impunity. “What if we could prove a pattern?” I suggested. “If we find enough women willing to share their experiences, even anonymously at first, it would be harder to dismiss.” “They seemed unconvinced, but agreed to think about it and to put me in touch with others they knew who might have had similar experiences with Marcus.
” As I was leaving the coffee shop, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. “Back off, or your daughter’s private photos go public. You have 24 hours.” My blood ran cold. The private photos could only be the ones Anelise had taken for Pedro, the ones stored in her hidden photo vault that I’d glimped on her phone.
Somehow Marcus had accessed them. I called Anelise immediately. “Mom,” she answered, sounding groggy. She’d been napping after an emotionally exhausting few days. “Anelise, did you ever send those photos from your hidden folder to Pedro or anyone else?” “What?” “No,” she exclaimed, suddenly alert. “I mean, I sent a couple to Pedro, but not the worst ones.
Why? Which device did you use to take those photos? Your current phone or an older one?” “My old phone mostly.” But they should have transferred when I got the new one. Why are you asking this? The pieces clicked into place. Where is your old phone now? I don’t know. Probably in my desk drawer somewhere.
I haven’t used it since I got the new one for Christmas. Find it now and don’t turn it on. I raced home, my mind spinning with possibilities. If Marcus had somehow gotten access to Analise’s old phone, or if Pedro had shared the photo she’d sent him, we were dealing with a whole new level of threat. When I arrived, Anelise was tearing apart her room looking for the old phone, clothes and books scattered across the floor.
I can’t find it, she said, panic evident in her voice. “Think, Anelise. When was the last time you remember having it?” she sat on her bed, concentrating. “I used it as a music player for a while after I got the new one. I might have taken it to school. Could you have left it somewhere? Lost it?” Her eyes widened with sudden realization.
the party at Megan’s house last month. I brought it to play music, but I was using Megan’s speaker. I remember setting it down somewhere and then she trailed off, her face paling. I don’t remember picking it up again. Who was at that party? I asked, dreading the answer. Just kids from school.
And she hesitated, twisting the hem of her shirt. Some of Megan’s older brother’s friends from college. The connection was too coincidental to ignore. Was one of them named Marcus? Anelise shook her head. I don’t think so, but I wasn’t paying attention to her brother’s friends. They were hanging out in the basement and we were upstairs.
I showed her the threatening text. Someone has your old photos, Anelise, and they’re using them to try to stop me from investigating Marcus. Her face crumpled. Mom, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. No, I said firmly, pulling her into a hug. This is not your fault. This is what predators do. They find vulnerabilities and exploit them, but we’re not going to let them win.
I texted back the unknown number. Distributing explicit images of a minor is a federal offense. Do it and I’ll make sure you spend the next decade in prison. The response came almost immediately. Try proving it was me. Meanwhile, your daughter’s reputation will be destroyed. Final warning. I showed Anelise the exchange.
We need to get ahead of this. I said, “If he’s threatening to release those photos, we need to prepare.” “How?” she asked, her voice small and frightened. “First, we tell your school counselor what’s happening. Not about the photos specifically, but that you’re being harassed and threatened by an older man. Second, we contact the police about the threats.
” “The police?” Analise looked terrified. “But what if they see the photos? They deal with cases like this all the time,” I assured her with more confidence than I felt. Their job is to protect you, not judge you. Before we could discuss further, my phone received another text from the unknown number, this time with an image attached. I opened it cautiously.
It was a screenshot of an Instagram direct message to one of Analisa’s friends with one of her private photos attached. The message hadn’t been sent yet. It was poised. Finger hovering over the send button in the screenshot. Last chance. The accompanying text read. Meet me tonight at 8:00 p.m. at the campus coffee shop.
Come alone or the photos go out to everyone on your daughter’s friend list. I showed Anelise the message, watching her face crumble in horror. Mom, you can’t go. She pleaded, grabbing my arm. It’s obviously a trap. She was right, of course. Meeting an angry, cornered predator alone at night was dangerous. But the alternative, having those photos distributed to Analise’s entire social circle was unthinkable.
I have to, I said, my mind already racing through possible scenarios. But I’m not going in blind. I called Jason, explaining the situation without mentioning the photos specifically. Marcus is threatening my daughter, I said. He wants me to meet him tonight at the campus coffee shop. Don’t go, Jason warned, his voice tense. He’s been drinking all day talking crazy.
Some of the guys are worried about him. I don’t have a choice, I replied, hearing the determination in my own voice. But I could use some backup. Jason hesitated. I don’t want to get involved directly, but I’ll be nearby and I’ll call campus security if anything happens. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. Next, I called Vanessa and Talia, asking if they’d be willing to be in the area as witnesses. They agreed reluctantly.
Finally, I prepared Anelise for the worst case scenario. If those photos do get out, I told her, holding her shoulders gently. We’ll face it together. It won’t be easy, but it won’t be the end of the world either, and we’ll make sure everyone knows who’s really responsible. She nodded, tears streaming down her face.
I wish I could take it all back. The photos, the lies, everything. I know, honey. I hugged her tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. But we can’t change the past. We can only deal with what’s happening now. At 7:30 p.m., I drove to campus, my heart pounding against my ribs.
I prepared as best I could. I had a new phone with recording capabilities. Vanessa and Talia would be at a table nearby, and Jason had promised to keep an eye on the situation from outside. I’d also left a sealed envelope with Anelise containing printouts of all the evidence I’d gathered about Marcus with instructions to take it to the police if I didn’t return by 10 p.m.
The campus coffee shop was busy with students studying for midterms, providing some security and numbers. I chose a table near the back, positioning myself so I could see the entrance, but also had a clear path to the emergency exit if needed. At exactly 8:00 p.m., Marcus walked in. He looked terrible, unshaven, bloodshot eyes, clothes rumpled as if he’d been wearing them for days.
He spotted me immediately and made his way to my table, dropping into the chair across from me with casual arrogance. You should have minded your own business, he said without preamble, his voice low and threatening. My daughter is my business, I replied evenly, meeting his gaze. And so are all the other girls you’ve drugged and assaulted.
He leaned forward, the smell of whiskey heavy on his breath. You have no proof of anything. It’s your word against mine. And trust me, at this school, my word carries a lot more weight than yours. Is that why you’re threatening to distribute child pornography? Because you’re so confident in your position? His eyes narrowed. I never said anything about pornography.
You have no proof I sent those texts. I don’t need proof, I said, keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart. I just need people to start asking questions. And they already are. Marcus, Vanessa, Talia, Britney, Jason, they’re all talking. How many others are there? How long before one of them goes to the police? I could see the calculation in his eyes.
the realization that his carefully constructed world was beginning to crumble. “What do you want?” he finally asked, his voice barely audible over the coffee shop chatter. “I want you to leave my daughter alone, leave her friends alone, and get help before you hurt someone else.” He laughed bitterly. “That’s it?” A slap on the wrist and a promise to be good.
“No,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “That’s just the beginning. I also want you to tell me exactly what happened the day Anelise came to your apartment.” His expression darkened. Nothing happened. She showed up looking for Pedro. I gave her a drink. We talked. Then Pedro called her, freaked out about her age, and she left. End of story. You drugged her drink.
I pressed, watching his face for any reaction. I didn’t substance anyone. He snapped too loudly. A few nearby students glanced our way. He lowered his voice. Look, even if I did, which I’m not saying. Nothing happened. She left. No harm, no foul. Intent matters, Marcus. You intended to assault my 15-year-old daughter. She said she was 20.
He hissed, a vein pulsing in his forehead. Everyone lies about their age. It’s not my fault she looked older. I leaned forward. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to delete any photos you have of my daughter. You’re going to stay away from her and her friends, and you’re going to get counseling for your issues with women. He snorted.
or what? Or I go public with everything I know. I’ve already spoken to multiple women who’ve had similar experiences with you. I have screenshots of your threats and I have a daughter who’s willing to tell her story. No one will believe you, he said, but I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
Maybe not at first, I conceded, but once one person speaks up, others follow. How many victims do you have, Marcus? 5 10. How many will it take before someone listens? He stared at me for a long moment, then abruptly stood up. This conversation is over. As he turned to leave, I called after him. I meant what I said about those photos.
Distribute them, and I’ll make sure you face federal charges. He paused, his back stiffening, then continued walking without looking back. I watched him leave, my hands shaking under the table. I wasn’t sure if I’d gotten through to him or just made things worse, but at least I’d stood my ground.
Vanessa and Talia approached my table as soon as Marcus was gone. “Are you okay?” Talia asked. He looked really angry. “I’m fine,” I assured them. “Did you record any of that?” Vanessa nodded, showing me her phone. “Got most of it.” He basically admitted to drugging drinks, even if he tried to walk it back. It wasn’t a full confession, but it was something.
Another piece of evidence to add to our growing collection. Outside the coffee shop, Jason was waiting by my car. That was intense. he said. I was ready to call security when he stood up like that. “Thank you for being here,” I said sincerely. “All of you. I know it wasn’t easy. What happens now?” Jason asked, his breath visible in the cool night air. I took a deep breath.
“Now we wait and see if he backs down or escalates, and we keep building our case, finding more women who are willing to speak up.” As I drove home, I felt a strange mix of fear and determination. Marcus was dangerous, cornered, and unpredictable, but he was also exposed now, his behavior under scrutiny for perhaps the first time.
When I arrived home, Anelise was waiting anxiously by the window, her silhouette visible through the curtains. Mom, she cried, running to hug me. What happened? Did he agree to delete the photos? Not exactly, I admitted. But I think I scared him. And more importantly, we have allies now. Other women he’s hurt who are willing to speak up.
Anelise pulled back, her expression serious. I want to speak up, too. If he releases those photos, I don’t want to hide in shame. I want everyone to know what he tried to do to me. I felt a surge of pride through my worry. My daughter was finding her strength. Her voice. Are you sure? I asked. Once we go public, there’s no going back.
She nodded firmly. I’m sure. I don’t want him to hurt anyone else. That night, as Analise slept, I sat at my computer drafting an email to the university’s Title 9 coordinator, the dean of students, and the campus police. I attached statements from Vanessa and Talia, screenshots of Marcus’ threatening texts, and a detailed account of what had happened to Anelise.
Before I could send it, my phone buzzed with a text from Jason. Marcus just got arrested for DUI, crashed his car into a campus security vehicle. No one hurt, but he’s in custody. It wasn’t the justice we were seeking, but it was a start, and it bought us time to build our case properly. I closed my laptop and went to check on Anelise.
She was sleeping peacefully for the first time in days, her face relaxed and younglook without makeup. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for tonight at least, she was safe. And I was one step closer to making sure Marcus Wright never hurt another young woman
