Chapter 1 - BENEATH THE BLANKET
The blanket ripped through my fingers, exposing every bruise his mother had ordered me to hide.
Cold air struck my bare legs. I pulled my knees together, but the movement sent pain through my hips and across the lower curve of my seven-month pregnant belly.
“Jake, please.” My voice broke. “Don’t let her see me.”
He stood beside the couch in his military dress uniform, medals bright beneath the living-room lamps. He had returned from the brigade ceremony twenty minutes early. His polished shoes were still wet from the rain.
He stared at my legs.
Purple bruises overlapped yellow ones. Finger-shaped marks circled my left thigh. A darker band spread beneath my maternity top where I had struck the bathroom vanity two nights earlier.
Jake’s hand remained wrapped around the blanket.
“What sort of beast does this to an expecting mother?”
I could hear his breathing.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
I looked toward the doorway before I could stop myself.
His mother stood there.
Evelyn Carter wore the formal navy dress she had chosen for Jake’s ceremony dinner. Her necklace lay perfectly centered against her throat. Gold rings covered three fingers of her right hand.
The same fingers had dug into my skin that morning.
Jake followed my gaze.
Evelyn’s shoulders tightened, but only for a second.
Then her mouth twisted.
“Tell her to stop playing the victim.”
Jake stepped between us.
I caught his sleeve.
The dark fabric was smooth beneath my shaking fingers.
“She hurts me whenever you leave.”
The confession left me almost soundless.
Jake turned so slowly that the medals on his chest stopped moving before the rest of him did.
“What did she say?” Evelyn asked.
He crossed the room.
His palm struck her cheek.
The sound cracked through the house.
Evelyn lost her balance in her heels and fell beside the entry table. Her bracelet struck the hardwood. One of her rings spun beneath the chair.
“Get out of my house, right now!” Jake shouted.
I had never heard him use that voice with her.
Evelyn stared up at him, one hand pressed against her cheek.
Then her expression changed.
Not fear.
Calculation.
“You just assaulted a sixty-three-year-old woman in your military uniform.”
Jake’s chest rose and fell.
“I’ll call the police myself.”
“You should.” She pushed herself upright. “Tell them your unstable wife attacked me first.”
“I didn’t touch you,” I said.
Evelyn looked past him at me.
“You threw yourself into furniture for weeks. You refused medical care. You told me you were afraid you might hurt the baby.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Is it?”
Jake turned toward me.
The hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second, but I saw it.
Evelyn saw it too.
She smiled.
“Ask her why she has missed three prenatal appointments.”
“I didn’t miss them.”
“You canceled them.”
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
I pressed one hand beneath my maternity top.
Jake noticed.
“Is the baby moving?”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “I think so.”
“You think?”
His panic sharpened.
Evelyn reached for her handbag on the entry table.
Jake blocked her.
“You’re not taking anything until the police arrive.”
“That bag is mine.”
“What did you do to Megan?”
Evelyn lifted her chin.
“I kept this household functioning while you played hero for strangers.”
“I asked you a question.”
“And I am telling you she is not well.”
Jake took out his phone.
Evelyn’s gaze flicked toward the hallway.
It was only a glance.
I knew what was there.
My phone lay inside her bedroom dresser because she had taken it after I tried to call my obstetrician that morning.
I forced myself upright.
Pain flared through my left thigh.
Jake moved toward me, but I raised a hand.
“My phone.”
“What?”
“She has my phone.”
Evelyn’s face hardened.
“I took it because she was sending confused messages at three in the morning.”
“I was asking my sister to come get me.”
Jake stared at his mother.
“You took her phone?”
“She needed rest.”
“She needed a way to call for help.”
Evelyn backed toward the hallway.
Jake dialed 911.
She lunged for her handbag.
I saw the cream-colored corner of a document protruding from the zipper.
My name was printed across the top.
Jake caught the strap before she could lift it.
The bag spilled across the floor.
Lipstick.
Keys.
A prescription bottle with my name on it.
My phone.
And a notarized military family-care document naming Evelyn as our unborn child’s emergency guardian.
Jake picked it up.
His eyes moved over the signature at the bottom.
“Megan,” he whispered. “Did you sign this?”
I stared at a perfect imitation of my own name.
“No.”
Evelyn stopped moving.
May you like
The police dispatcher answered through Jake’s phone.
And I realized the bruises were only the part of her plan she had failed to hide.
