Chapter 1 - The Cold Kitchen & The Rush for Life
The room spun in terrifying, jagged angles as the cold kitchen tile pressed into my cheek. Blood mixed with amniotic fluid, forming a dark, pooling ring on the white porcelain. Above me, the two women who shared my husband’s blood stood side by side, looking down at my helpless form as if I were nothing more than spilled milk.
“Patricia…” I gasped, my voice barely a cracked whisper. “The babies… they’re coming eight weeks early… please… call 911…”
My mother-in-law, Patricia Brooks, didn’t flinch. She adjusted her silk scarf, her eyes cold, calculating, and empty of humanity.
“You brought this on yourself, Clara,” Patricia said calmly, walking over to the island counter to pick up the forged trust papers Brianna had dropped. “If you had just signed the release form like a sensible girl, none of this would have happened. You were always so rigid. So arrogant.”
“Mom, we have to move,” Brianna interrupted, her breath hitching slightly as she wiped her knuckles against her designer jeans. She was trying to act tough, but the sight of my blood was beginning to shake her composure. “What if the neighbors heard her screaming?”
“No one heard anything,” Patricia replied smoothly, pulling a pair of thin leather gloves from her purse and placing them on her hands. She carefully picked up my fallen phone from under the cabinet—making sure not to touch it with her bare skin—and wiped down the screen. “We leave through the side garage door. She tripped over the rug while carrying heavy groceries. The shock triggered premature labor. That’s the story Ryan will hear when he steps off his flight in Singapore.”
“You’re… monsters…” I choked out, a agonizing surge of labor contractions ripping through my lower back, causing my whole body to arch in agony. My mind screamed for Sophie and Lucas. Hold on, my sweet angels, I pleaded silently, pressing my trembling palms against my swollen belly. Please, just keep breathing.
“Don’t waste your breath, Clara,” Patricia said, tossing my phone into a decorative glass jar filled with water on the counter, ensuring the circuit board would short-circuit completely. “By the time anyone checks on you, Ryan’s precious $150,000 trust will be transferred to Brianna’s account under emergency power-of-attorney protocols, and you… well, let’s hope the doctors can save at least one of those babies.”
They turned their backs on me. The heavy oak door leading to the garage clicked shut, followed by the quiet chime of the security system arming itself.
They had left me to die in my own home.
Darkness threatened to swallow my consciousness, but the fierce, primitive instinct of motherhood snapped my eyes open. I couldn’t die here. My babies couldn’t die here.
I looked up at the tiny black glass dome of the ceiling camera mounted near the pantry. A minuscule red LED light flickered every three seconds—the cloud upload heart-beat signal. It was still working. The camera had caught every second of the assault, every cold word out of Patricia’s mouth, every movement of their hands.
Dragging my lower body across the floor, every inch felt like dragging molten glass across my raw nerves. I didn’t try to reach for the ruined phone in the glass jar. Instead, I dragged myself three feet toward the lower kitchen cabinets, reaching with numb fingers toward the emergency alarm button installed near the floorboards—a silent panic feature connected directly to the private security company Ryan had hired for our property.
My fingers brushed against the small rubber button. With the absolute last reserve of strength in my body, I slammed my palm down against it.
May you like
A high-frequency silent alert instantly transmitted to the security agency’s monitoring desk.
As my head hit the floor and the room faded completely into blackness, the distant, faint sound of approaching sirens began to wail through the quiet suburban afternoon.
