Chapter 1 - MOVE AWAY FROM THE DOOR
Grant’s fist hit the right side of my abdomen before I could turn.
The force drove me backward.
My hip struck the granite counter.
Then my lower back.
Pain spread through my belly so quickly that for one horrible second I could not tell where my body ended and my daughter began.
I bent over instinctively.
Both arms wrapped beneath the enormous curve of my thirty-eight-week pregnancy.
“Claire!”
Ethan said my name.
He did not come to me.
That was the first betrayal.
His father stood less than four feet away with one fist still clenched.
Grant Mercer was sixty years old, broad through the shoulders, work boots planted on the kitchen floor as though he had every right to stand over a pregnant woman he had just punched.
Vivian stood beside the dining table.
Pearls.
Rhinestone-covered apron.
Completely calm.
“Hit her again. Don’t let her leave.”
I looked at her.
Not because I had misunderstood.
Because I had understood perfectly.
Grant reached for my wrist.
I moved backward.
There was nowhere to go except the counter.
My hand swept over ceramic bowls, a folded dish towel, a wooden spoon.
Then iron.
The skillet.
I grabbed the handle.
Heavy.
Cold.
Real.
I brought it up between us.
Grant stopped inches away.
My arm shook.
Not enough to lower it.
“Lay another finger on me, and you’ll find out exactly what it costs.”
His face changed.
He had expected fear.
I was terrified.
He simply had not expected terror to have weight.
“Claire,” Ethan said.
Finally he stepped forward.
I almost felt relief.
Then I saw where he was looking.
The skillet.
Not the handprint beginning to burn against my sweater.
Not my bent posture.
Not his father.
“Claire, put the skillet down.”
Something inside me became very quiet.
“Your father punched your baby.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you talking about the skillet?”
“Because someone is going to get hurt.”
I stared at him.
“Someone already did.”
Grant lunged half a step.
I swung.
Not at his face.
Not at his ribs.
Not at his hands.
The skillet crashed into the wooden cabinet beside his head.
The door split near the hinge.
Grant recoiled with both hands raised.
Vivian screamed.
I lowered the skillet only enough to move.
“Stay away from me.”
I pushed past Grant.
The front doorway was six yards away.
Ethan reached it first.
He stood there.
Blocking it.
I stopped.
The skillet hung beside my leg.
One hand remained over my belly.
Still nothing.
No movement.
My daughter usually responded when I pressed near her feet.
Nothing.
Fear began swallowing anger.
“Move away from the door.”
Ethan’s face crumpled.
“Claire…”
“Move.”
His eyes dropped to my stomach.
Then to the cracked face of my wristwatch.
Then back to me.
Shame.
At last.
He stepped sideways.
I walked past him.
Not quickly.
I could not.
My belly felt tight.
My right side throbbed.
The cold hit me the second I crossed the porch.
No coat.
I did not go back.
My car sat halfway down the driveway.
I opened it.
Got inside.
Locked all four doors.
Only then did I put both palms against my abdomen.
“Come on.”
Nothing.
“Baby.”
My hands trembled.
Behind the windshield, Ethan stood in the doorway.
Grant appeared behind him.
Vivian beside Grant.
Three people watching.
Not helping.
I hit the emergency-call control.
The dispatcher answered.
“Emergency services. What’s your location?”
I gave the address.
My voice barely worked.
“What happened?”
I looked straight through the windshield at Ethan.
“I was attacked, and my baby stopped moving.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Vivian grabbed Grant’s arm.
For the first time, both of them looked afraid.
The dispatcher’s voice remained steady.
“How many weeks pregnant are you?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Are you bleeding?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do not drive yourself. Stay where you are if you are safe inside the vehicle.”
“I’m locked in.”
“Good. Help is on the way.”
My daughter still did not move.
Then Ethan started walking toward the car.
I immediately hit the horn.
He stopped.
I shook my head.
No.
Not this time.
May you like
Sirens began somewhere beyond the trees.
And Ethan finally understood that I was no longer waiting for him to choose me.
