Jessica is about 25 years old and a very pretty petite blonde who comes to Starbucks about 3 times a week. She parks across the street even when there is a lot of available parking. She orders a cold drink and never finishes it.

She is unemployed but used to work in an office as a typist or clerk of some kind. She has a husband but no children. She wears sweat pants with a shirt that is too big for her and always tries to not look as pretty as she is. Her beautiful blonde hair is always in a pony tail. She avoids eye contact and sits along the back wall where she can see who walks in. If there are no seats along the wall she leaves.

She doesn't need make-up but wears it sometimes concentrated on certain parts of her face. On days she doesn't wear make-up she wears over-sized sunglasses. She gets startled every single time someone walks in and her shoulders slump just a little any time a man raises his voice inside the store.

Make-up cannot cover the fact that on some days she massages a sore shoulder or can't move one of her wrists. Sometimes she won't show for 2 or 3 weeks at a time. When she does come back she almost always returns with a slight limp and the look in her eyes is one of the lingering effects of pain medication.

When she finds a seat she sits down and gets out her laptop and logs on. She puts her phone on the table. The phone never rings and she gets no texts but she checks it every 30 seconds anyway.

When the coast is clear she gets on the internet. After a minute or so her eyes light up and her breathing relaxes. She is talking to someone. Someone who makes her sometimes swollen lips smile just a little bit. Someone who is not her husband.

Jessica never spends more than 30 minutes or so at Starbucks. She always comes in alone. No one ever talks to her or seem to recognize her. It's almost like she is not there sometimes. Like a ghost that just passed through. I think I see her only because I have seen so many like her before.

Sometimes, for just a split second, I see something different in her eyes. For just a moment the pain leaves and she looks just like anyone else. It's almost like she suddenly appeared out of nowhere and then disappears again before I get a chance to focus my eyes. She's trying.

I wonder sometimes. Having been a police investigator so many years I have no shortage of contacts of all kinds. I could find a person who can help her discreetly. Someone who can help her get out of this situation somehow. But I also know it's difficult. Battered women are most likely to get killed the day they make the decision to leave.

But sometimes I have another idea. I do have all kinds of contacts. There are no shortages of bad guys that owe me favors also. Maybe they should pay her husband a visit. Give him a little wake up call. Hell, I think I maybe I could round up a couple of retired cop friends of mine and we'd fix this. I'm still thinking about it. If I knew for sure that it would work I would not hesitate.

Whatever happens I know someday she will not show up to Starbucks anymore. She will be gone. I hope that it is because that guy from the internet, the one that made her sometimes swollen lips smile, took her away from here.

If not, well, the husband just might get a visit.