Chapter 2 - THE BABY WAS STILL THERE
The baby was fine.
That is the sentence everyone wanted immediately.
It was also a sentence the doctors refused to give immediately.
At midnight:
Reassuring fetal tracing.
At 2:00 a.m.:
Still reassuring.
At 5:30:
No bleeding.
No progressive contractions.
By morning:
No evidence of placental abruption.
No signs of premature labor.
The baby kicked the monitor hard enough that the nurse smiled.
"There's your answer."
I put my hand on the spot.
A heel pushed back.
I cried again.
The doctor discharged me that afternoon with instructions.
Return for bleeding.
Fluid leakage.
Regular contractions.
Worsening abdominal pain.
Reduced fetal movement.
Severe back pain.
Shortness of breath.
Anything that worried me enough.
No heroic guarantee that the strike had done nothing.
Just a medically reassuring evaluation and clear follow-up.
My back remained bruised for nearly two weeks.
The baby remained fine.
Both facts mattered.
My father wanted me at Castellani House.
I said no.
He looked offended.
"Why?"
"Because I need somewhere Preston does not live and you do not control."
"I don't control you."
I stared.
Dad sighed.
"Fine. I control environments."
"Exactly."
I owned a two-bedroom condominium downtown from before marriage.
It had been rented.
The tenant had moved out two months earlier.
Furniture remained.
I chose that.
Dad offered three security men.
I accepted one rotating protective specialist in the lobby until the restraining-order hearing.
Not inside.
No one outside my bedroom.
No black cars permanently lining the street.
Support.
Not occupation.
Then my phone filled.
Preston.
Thirty-two calls.
Seventeen texts.
CAMILLE PLEASE CALL.
MOM LOST HER TEMPER.
I DID NOT KNOW SHE WOULD HIT YOU.
THE MONEY IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK.
YOU'RE PREGNANT. YOU CAN'T JUST VANISH.
That last message mattered.
I did not answer.
His attorney contacted mine within twenty-four hours.
Good.
Formal channels.
Then Dorinda.
Through no attorney at first.
One voicemail.
"You attacked this family because you do not understand what marriage requires."
I listened once.
Saved it.
Did not reply.
Police obtained the kitchen security footage from the Reeves estate system after the proper preservation steps.
No missing camera.
No corrupted drive.
No mystery.
One fixed camera covered the kitchen and back door.
No audio.
It showed:
Dorinda raising the rolling pin.
Strike.
Me stumbling.
Preston watching.
Me reaching toward him.
Him blocking the back door.
Me getting the phone.
Him reaching.
Me crawling.
Door opening.
Dad entering.
Dad moving me.
Dad slapping Dorinda.
Everything.
May you like
No footage of whatever had been said before.
The folder would provide that.
