Chapter 1 - THE FALL
Ryan’s palms struck between my shoulder blades while my right foot was still suspended above the next stair.
“Ryan—don’t!”
My scream tore through the narrow stairwell.
The force pitched my body forward. I threw both arms out, one hand instinctively protecting the lower curve of my seven-month pregnant belly while the other clawed for the wooden railing.
My fingertips caught the polished edge.
For one desperate second, I believed I had stopped myself.
Then the railing shifted beneath my grip.
My fingers slipped free.
My left knee struck the first step. Pain shot through my leg, but momentum carried me forward. My shoulder slammed into the wall, my hip hit the next tread, and the staircase began turning around me in violent flashes.
Wood.
White wall.
Brass light fixture.
Ryan’s pale face above me.
I tried to curl around my abdomen.
There was no space.
My back hit another step. The impact drove the air from my lungs. I rolled sideways, struck my elbow, then tumbled the remaining distance until the marble floor rushed up beneath my cheek.
My body stopped.
The room did not.
The chandelier spun above me. A loud ringing filled my ears. I tasted blood where my teeth had cut the inside of my lip.
Then pain tightened low across my abdomen.
Not the blunt pain of bruised muscle.
A deep, hard cramp.
I pressed both hands against my maternity sweater.
“Baby.”
My voice barely existed.
Footsteps pounded from below.
Jake slid onto his knees beside me so hard that his jeans scraped across the marble.
“Emily.”
He placed one hand near my shoulder but hesitated before touching me.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t move.”
His voice broke on the final word.
I turned my eyes toward him. His face had gone gray beneath the warm hallway lights. One sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt was rolled higher than the other from helping my father move boxes earlier.
The ordinary detail made the moment feel impossible.
“Something hurts,” I whispered.
“Where?”
“My stomach.”
Jake’s eyes dropped toward my belly.
He leaned over me, placing his body between mine and the staircase as if Ryan might come down and finish what he had started.
Above us, my brother stood three steps from the landing.
Both hands remained lifted near his chest.
He stared at me.
Not with horror.
With calculation.
As though he were trying to decide which version of the fall would save him.
My father leaned against the landing wall in his plaid shirt and jeans.
He laughed.
The sound was loud, careless, almost amused.
“She’s just acting out for attention.”
Jake looked up.
I felt his body become rigid beside me.
“Call an ambulance,” he said.
My father’s grin remained.
“She landed on her side. Pregnant women are tougher than they pretend.”
Another cramp seized me.
I drew my knees up slightly and cried out.
Jake turned back immediately.
“Stay with me. Breathe.”
He slid one arm behind my shoulders without lifting me and used the other to keep me from rolling onto my back.
“Can you feel the baby moving?”
I closed my eyes.
I could feel my own pulse everywhere.
My cheek.
My throat.
The bruised places along my ribs.
“I don’t know.”
Jake reached for his phone.
Ryan descended one step.
“I barely touched her,” he said.
His voice cracked beneath the lie.
“She slipped.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him.
“Why?”
The question came out as air.
Ryan avoided my gaze.
He backed toward our father instead.
That movement told me where his loyalty had gone long before his hands touched my back.
Jake began dialing emergency services.
My father walked down two stairs.
“You don’t need police and ambulances making a spectacle. Put her on the couch and let her calm down.”
Jake lifted his head.
“She fell down an entire staircase.”
“She threw herself forward.”
“I saw Ryan push her.”
Ryan shook his head quickly.
“No, you saw her fall.”
“You had both hands on her.”
“She was blocking the stairs.”
I remembered the moment before the shove.
My father standing behind Ryan.
The papers waiting on the desk upstairs.
The pen placed across the final page.
I had told them I wanted my attorney to read everything before I signed.
Ryan had followed me into the hallway.
I had started down the stairs.
That was all I allowed myself to think about.
The pain sharpened again.
I caught Jake’s sleeve.
His phone nearly slipped from his hand.
“Don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The emergency dispatcher answered.
Jake gave the address and said the words clearly.
“My pregnant wife was pushed down a staircase.”
My father swore.
Ryan moved toward Jake.
“Don’t say pushed.”
Jake rose halfway, keeping one knee beside me.
“Get away from her.”
“Give me the phone.”
“Take one more step.”
Ryan stopped.
My father descended to the bottom landing, still wearing the same contemptuous smile.
“This is a family misunderstanding.”
“No,” Jake said. “It’s an assault.”
“You married into this family. Watch how you speak to us.”
Jake handed me the phone long enough to remove his jacket and fold it gently beneath my head.
The motion exposed a faint tremor in both his hands.
Sirens began in the distance.
Ryan looked toward the front windows.
Panic spread visibly across his face.
“I said I barely touched her.”
I stared at him through tears.
“You pushed me.”
“You lost your balance.”
“The railing moved.”
My father’s expression changed for less than a second.
Then it returned to amusement.
Jake noticed.
He looked toward the staircase.
I tightened my grip on his sleeve.
“Stay.”
He stayed.
The sirens grew louder.
Ryan backed against the wall beside my father.
My brother looked young again—twenty-seven, frightened, desperate for the older man beside him to decide what truth they would use.
My father whispered something.
I could not hear the first words over the approaching ambulance.
Then his voice sharpened.
“You pushed her before she signed.”
Ryan went completely still.
So did I.
May you like
Jake turned his head toward them.
The front door burst open before any of us could ask what the sentence meant.
