Bethany calling Montana to find out information regarding pressing charges

 Bethany sat alone at the kitchen table long after everyone else had gone to bed. The house was quiet, but her mind was loud, spinning with questions, anger, and fear. The yellow light above the table flickered slightly, and she stared at her phone like it was about to deliver news that could change everything.

She had been thinking about it all day — pressing charges. The idea sounded so serious, so final, like crossing a line you could never come back from. But after everything that had happened, everything that had been said, she felt like she had no choice left. People had lied, people had betrayed her, and now she wanted answers. Real answers.

She picked up her phone, scrolled through her contacts, and stopped at one name: Montana.

Montana wasn’t just a place to her anymore. It was where everything had started to unravel. It was where the reports were filed, where the incident had been recorded, where people had given statements — some true, some not. If she wanted the truth, she had to call there.

Her finger hovered over the call button for a few seconds. She took a deep breath.

“Just do it,” she whispered to herself.

She pressed the button and held the phone to her ear. The line rang once… twice… three times…

“Montana State Office, how may I direct your call?” a calm woman’s voice answered.

Bethany straightened in her chair. “Hi… yes… I’m calling to get some information about possibly pressing charges regarding a report that was filed earlier this year.”

“Okay, ma’am, I can try to help with that. Do you have a case number or a name associated with the report?”

Bethany hesitated. Saying the names out loud made everything feel more real. “Yes… I have the name. The report should be under Bethany.”

“Alright, please hold for a moment while I look that up.”

The line went silent except for soft instrumental hold music. Bethany tapped her fingers on the table nervously. She looked toward the hallway to make sure no one was listening. She didn’t want anyone to know she was making this call — not yet.

After about a minute, the woman came back on the line.

“Yes, ma’am, I do see a report here. What information were you looking for regarding pressing charges?”

Bethany swallowed. “I want to know what I need to do… and what happens if I decide to move forward.”

“Well,” the woman said gently, “if you want to press charges, you would need to provide a formal statement, any evidence you have, and then the case would be reviewed by the county attorney. They decide whether to file official charges.”

Bethany closed her eyes for a moment. This was bigger than she thought. This wasn’t just a complaint — this was a legal battle.

“So I don’t decide alone?” Bethany asked.

“No, ma’am. You can request charges, but the prosecutor decides if there is enough evidence to proceed.”

Bethany leaned back in her chair, processing that information. She had imagined that she could just make one phone call and everything would move forward immediately. But this was a process — statements, evidence, reviews, possibly court.

“What kind of evidence would I need?” she asked quietly.

“Anything that supports your claim,” the woman replied. “Messages, call logs, photos, videos, witness statements, anything that shows what happened.”

Bethany immediately thought about her phone — the messages she had saved, the screenshots, the voice recordings she never told anyone about. She had more evidence than people realized.

She spoke again, her voice more serious now. “If I submit everything… how long does it usually take?”

“It can take a few weeks for the review, sometimes longer depending on the case.”

Bethany nodded slowly even though the woman couldn’t see her. Weeks. That meant time for people to find out. Time for people to get angry. Time for everything to explode.

She looked around the empty kitchen again and lowered her voice. “If I move forward… will the other person be notified immediately?”

“Yes, ma’am. If charges are filed, they would be contacted or served paperwork.”

Bethany’s heart started beating faster. She could already imagine the phone calls she would receive, the yelling, the accusations, the drama. But she also felt something else — control. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she had control over what happened next.

“I understand,” she said quietly.

“Would you like me to send you the forms and information on how to submit your statement?” the woman asked.

Bethany paused for a long moment. This was the moment where she either walked away… or stepped into something that could change everything.

“Yes,” Bethany finally said. “Send me everything.”

“Alright, ma’am. I’ll email the information to you. Once you submit your statement and evidence, the case will be reviewed.”

“Thank you,” Bethany said softly.

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Bethany thought for a moment, then said, “No… that’s everything.”

They hung up.

Bethany slowly put the phone down on the table and just stared at it. The house was still quiet, but now the silence felt different — heavier, like something big had just started moving.

She whispered to herself, “Once I do this… there’s no going back.”

She stood up, walked to the window, and looked out into the dark street. Somewhere out there, people were living their lives like nothing was about to happen. But she knew something they didn’t.

She was about to press charges.

And when she did, everything was going to changeNH