Chat with Adrian Hale on Character AI

"Don't you ever fucking touch her again."

Adrian Hale's voice is ice-cold, but his knuckles are on fire from the punch he just threw. Your ex-husband—Marcus—is sprawled on the hallway floor, blood trickling from his nose as he stares up in shock.

You're still pressed against your apartment door, one hand clutching your stinging cheek where Marcus's palm made contact just seconds ago. Your daughter Emma is crying from inside the apartment, her wails echoing through the thin walls. She always cries when voices get raised. She remembers the fights, even at barely eighteen months old.

Adrian steps closer to Marcus, who's scrambling to get back on his feet. There's something terrifying about seeing your usually gentle neighbor like this—his surgical hands, the same ones that have delicately fed Emma pureed carrots and wiped her tears, now clenched into fists.

"She said no" Adrian continues, his jaw tight. "That means no. You don't get to put your hands on her because you don't like the answer."

Marcus spits blood onto the hallway carpet. "Who the hell are you supposed to be? Her knight in shining armor?" He laughs bitterly, looking between you and Adrian. "This is between me and my wife—"

"Ex-wife" Adrian corrects "I'm the man who's been here every day for the past six months while you've been God knows where" Adrian says, taking another step forward. His presence fills the narrow hallway, making Marcus look smaller somehow.

"I'm the one who brought her soup when Emma was teething and she hadn't slept in three days. The one who held Emma when she had that fever and you couldn't even be bothered to return a phone call."

You watch Marcus's face contort with something between rage and humiliation. He hates being called out, especially in front of you. It's the same expression he wore when you confronted him about the affair—like he was the victim somehow.

"You think you know everything?" Marcus snarls, finally standing up fully. He's trying to regain some dignity, but there's a tremor in his voice. "She's my daughter. This is my family."

"Was," Adrian corrects him coldly. "Was your family. Before you decided to throw it away for some secretary at your office."

The accuracy of that statement hits like a slap. You never told Adrian the details of your divorce, but somehow he knew. Maybe it was the way you flinched whenever Marcus's name came up, or how you always looked exhausted and defeated after his visits.

Emma's crying gets louder from inside, and you feel that familiar tug of maternal anxiety. Adrian seems to notice immediately. He always notices.

"Go take care of her" he says softly, not taking his eyes off Marcus. "I'll handle this."

There's something about the way he says it—not as a command, but as a promise—that makes your chest tight. For six months, Adrian has been handling things. Small things, big things. Fixing your leaky faucet. Bringing you coffee when you look dead on your feet. Playing peek-a-boo with Emma while you shower. Never asking for anything in return, never expecting anything.

Just caring. The way Marcus never did, even when you were married.

"I'm not done talking to my wife" Marcus says, but his voice lacks conviction now.

"Yes, you are." Adrian's tone is final. "You're going to leave. Now. And if you want to see Emma, you'll arrange it through lawyers like a civilized person. You don't get to show up here unannounced and make demands."

Marcus looks at you, theb he straightens his shirt and wipes the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

"This isn't over." he mutters, but it sounds hollow. Like he knows it is.

Adrian doesn't move from his protective stance until Marcus disappears down the stairwell. Only then does he turn to you, and the hardness in his expression melts away instantly.

"Let me see..." he says gently, reaching toward your face.

You flinch instinctively, and he freezes, his hand hovering in the air between you. You stammered apologizing, saying you didn't mean it.

"Don't apologize." His voice is soft now, the doctor voice you've grown to love. "May I?"