PART 2

Marcus had arrived ten minutes earlier.

I knew none of that yet. I only knew my father had abandoned me in the kitchen with the front door hanging open, and my body no longer seemed under my control. My lungs could not draw enough air. Every passing second felt dangerous.

I slid down the cabinet, my nightgown soaked, one hand pressed tightly against the side of my stomach.

“Please,” I whispered, unsure whether I was speaking to God, my baby, or myself. “Please, baby, stay with me.”

Outside, Richard yelled, “Move your car!”

Marcus never raised his voice. That restraint was exactly what frightened people. He had worked in law enforcement for twenty-two years—first as a state trooper, then an investigator, and now a captain with the Ohio State Highway Patrol. When facts were enough, he never wasted words.

“Richard Hale,” he said, “step away from the vehicle.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You have no right to stop me.”

“I have every right if you just assaulted a pregnant woman.”

The silence afterward felt narrow and sharp.

My phone rested on the kitchen counter, only a little beyond my reach. I tried to lift myself, but another contraction seized me, forcing a scream from my throat.

Marcus heard it.

His tone changed immediately. “Emily!”

Heavy footsteps raced toward the porch.

My father attempted to push around him. “She’s fine. She’s dramatic. She always does this.”

Then I heard Richard’s body strike the hood of the cruiser.

“Hands where I can see them,” Marcus ordered.

“I’m her father!”

“You’re a suspect.”

The words reached through the pain like the first full breath I had taken.

A suspect.

Not a father who had lost his temper.

Not a misunderstood family member.

Not someone entitled to forgiveness because we shared blood.

A suspect.

Marcus entered the kitchen moments later while speaking to dispatch. His gaze took in everything—the wet floor, my shaking body against the cabinet, my hand over my belly, and the red mark already forming where I had hit the granite.

He dropped beside me but carefully avoided moving my body.

“Emily, stay still. Ambulance is on the way.”

“My baby,” I gasped.

“I know. Help is coming.”

“Daniel—”

“I called him from the driveway. He’s already trying to get the first flight back.”

Tears blurred my vision. “Why were you here?”

Marcus glanced toward the open door, beyond which my father continued shouting curses.

“Daniel asked me to check on you. Your father called him this morning demanding the money. Daniel told him no. Then Richard said he’d get it from you directly.”

My stomach tightened again, and pain burned upward through my body.

Marcus removed his uniform jacket and gently positioned it beneath my head.

“You’re not alone,” he said.

Sirens approached in the distance.

Outside, my father screamed that Marcus was destroying his life, that I was lying, and that no one would believe a daughter’s word over her father’s.

Marcus turned slightly, his face cold.

“The security cameras will,” he said.

Richard fell silent.

He had forgotten the cameras Daniel installed after his previous visit.

He had forgotten the doorbell camera.

The driveway camera.

The kitchen camera Daniel had placed near the back entrance after several neighborhood burglaries.

Richard had forgotten everything except the money.

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