Chapter 1 - THE SIGNATURE IN HER HAND
Margaret’s foot struck my pregnant side again as I tried to rise from the wet marble.
Pain flashed beneath my ribs and rolled across my abdomen. My palms skidded through gray water. The scrub brush spun away and struck the brass drain with a sharp plastic crack.
I wrapped both arms around my belly.
“Stop.”
My voice came out thin.
Margaret Brooks sat above me with one slipper resting beside the basin and the other planted on the floor. A plate of pecan pie balanced on her jeweled fingers. She cut another bite with her fork.
“Scrub harder,” she said. “Or I’ll throw you and your child onto the street.”
The baby shifted once beneath my hands.
Then went still.
I looked toward the hallway.
Daniel stood in the doorway.
His briefcase hung from one hand. His dress shirt was creased from travel, and his face had gone completely blank.
He had seen the kick.
“Daniel.”
Margaret turned.
For the first time that afternoon, fear crossed her face.
It vanished quickly.
“She slipped.”
Daniel dropped his briefcase.
The metal clasps struck the floor.
He crossed the room in three strides. When Margaret tried to push herself upright, he drove his shoe against the lower frame of her chair. It shot backward across the marble and tipped onto its side.
Margaret fell against the rug with a cry of outrage.
Daniel did not touch her.
He knelt beside me.
“How long has she been doing this to you?”
His hands hovered over my shoulders, afraid to hurt me.
I wanted to answer.
Instead, another tightening gripped my abdomen. My lungs locked. My soaked knees trembled against the floor.
“Emma, look at me.”
“I can’t feel him.”
Daniel’s expression broke.
He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders and belly, covering the wet lace of my maternity dress. His fingers shook as he checked the side Margaret had kicked.
Behind him, Margaret pushed herself upright.
“You assaulted me.”
Daniel turned slowly.
“You kicked my pregnant wife.”
“She has been living here for free, eating my food, using my water, and turning you against me.”
“I pay every bill in this house.”
“You pay because you owe me.”
Daniel helped me stand.
The marble tilted beneath my feet.
I gripped his arm while he reached for the two suitcases positioned beside the staircase.
I had not packed them.
My blue suitcase stood open. Maternity clothes were folded inside with unnatural neatness. The smaller case contained baby blankets, prenatal vitamins, and the hospital bag I had kept upstairs.
Margaret had prepared them before forcing me onto my knees.
Daniel saw my face.
“You didn’t pack these?”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
He pulled both cases toward the front door.
Margaret stepped into our path.
Her embroidered robe brushed the floor. Diamonds flashed on her rings as she pointed at me.
“This house belongs to my family. Not her.”
Daniel placed himself between us.
The smile that touched his mouth was cold and unfamiliar.
“It has never been yours to decide who this house belongs to.”
Margaret’s gaze moved to the briefcase on the floor.
She knew what was inside it.
That frightened her more than the siren beginning somewhere beyond the windows.
She reached into her robe and pulled out a folded document.
“Emma already decided.”
My name appeared on the first page.
VOLUNTARY MARITAL SEPARATION AND PROPERTY WAIVER.
The signature at the bottom looked like mine.
A notary seal had been pressed beside it.
According to the paper, I had surrendered any present or future claim to the house, accepted five thousand dollars in relocation assistance, and agreed to vacate before the birth of my child.
“I never signed that.”
“You signed it last Tuesday.”
“I was at my obstetric appointment.”
Margaret looked at Daniel.
“She is confused.”
Daniel took out his phone.
“I’m calling an ambulance and the police.”
“If you do that, I will tell them you attacked a sixty-four-year-old woman.”
“You can tell them from the floor.”
He guided me toward the door.
Margaret moved to block us again.
This time Daniel did not step closer.
He raised his phone so the camera faced her.
“Move.”
The certainty in his voice made her hesitate.
That hesitation gave me a path.
The November air struck my wet legs as Daniel led me onto the porch. My knees nearly folded. He caught me and lowered me onto the top step.
The baby still had not moved.
“Please,” I whispered, pressing both hands beneath my ribs. “Please move.”
Daniel crouched in front of me.
“I’m here.”
“You were supposed to be in Philadelphia.”
“I came back early.”
“Why?”
He looked through the open doorway toward the briefcase.
“Because the county recorder called me this morning.”
Margaret heard him.
Her face changed.
Daniel continued.
“Someone filed a deed yesterday claiming you had abandoned the marriage and transferred your interest in this house to my mother.”
The ambulance turned onto the street.
Red light moved across Margaret’s pearls.
She clutched the forged separation agreement tighter.
I stared at the suitcases she had packed before making me scrub her floor.
The kick had not been an explosion of anger.
May you like
It had been the final step in an eviction she had already placed on paper.
But if Margaret had forged my signature, how had she known exactly which document Daniel was bringing home?
