Chapter 1 - The Third Ring
The phone rang a third time.
And then my father answered.
"Sweetheart?"
One word.
That was all it took to make my throat close.
I hadn't heard him call me that in almost eight months.
Carter held my broken phone between two fingers, grinning like a man about to enjoy the best joke of his life.
"Well, well," he said. "Daddy finally picked up."
I was still leaning against the kitchen counter.
Blood had soaked through the thighs of my gray work pants.
Every few seconds, another wave of pain tightened around my stomach.
I couldn't tell whether my baby was moving anymore.
"Dad," I whispered.
Something changed in his voice.
"Nora?"
I tried to answer.
A sharp cramp tore through me.
My legs buckled, and I grabbed the edge of the countertop to keep from falling.
"Nora, what's wrong?"
Carter rolled his eyes.
"Nothing's wrong, old man. Your daughter's putting on another show."
There was a pause.
Not a long one.
But I knew my father well enough to recognize what it meant.
He was listening.
Carter leaned over the phone.
"This is Carter. Her husband. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. She comes home late, refuses to do anything around the house, and then starts crying because somebody expects her to act like a wife."
Mrs. Eleanor snorted from the dining room.
"Tell him she can't even cook a decent meal."
My father didn't respond to either of them.
"Nora," he said. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Are you safe?"
I looked at Carter.
At his mother.
At my phone, broken in his hand.
And at the blood spreading across the kitchen floor.
"No."
The word barely made it past my lips.
But my father heard it.
"Are you injured?"
"Yes."
"Is the baby okay?"
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
I hadn't realized how much I'd been trying not to think about that question.
"Nora?"
"I'm bleeding, Dad."
The silence that followed was different.
Cold.
Focused.
"What kind of bleeding?"
I swallowed.
"A lot."
"Where are you?"
"Home."
"Alexandria?"
"Yes."
"Have you called 911?"
I looked at the phone.
Carter's smile had disappeared.
"He won't let me."
My father's next words were quiet.
"Who won't let you?"
"Carter."
Carter immediately straightened.
"Now, hold on. That's not what happened."
My father ignored him.
"Nora, stay with me. Are you having abdominal pain?"
"Yes."
"Can you stand?"
"Not anymore."
Carter laughed nervously.
"Oh, for God's sake. She's seven months pregnant. Women get cramps."
My father spoke over him.
"Carter, put the phone beside my daughter. Now."
Carter's face hardened.
"Excuse me?"
"Put the phone beside her."
"Listen, buddy. I don't know who you think you are, but I'm an attorney. And I don't take orders from—"
"My name is Samuel Whitcomb."
Carter stopped talking.
Not because he recognized the name.
Because of the way my father said it.
Calmly.
Without hesitation.
Like he was reading something from a document.
"I'm recording the circumstances of this call in my notes," Dad continued. "My daughter has reported significant bleeding during pregnancy, serious pain, and that you have prevented her from contacting emergency services."
Carter gave a short, unpleasant laugh.
"Good luck proving any of that."
"Put the phone down."
"Or what?"
My father didn't answer.
Instead, I heard him speaking to someone nearby.
"Ruth, call emergency services immediately. Alexandria, Virginia. I'll give you the address."
My heart jumped.
Ruth.
My father's longtime executive assistant.
She had worked with him since I was twelve years old.
Carter blinked.
"Wait. Who are you talking to?"
My father returned to the line.
"Nora, help is coming. I'm staying on this call."
Mrs. Eleanor pushed away from the table.
"Absolutely not. We don't need strangers coming into our house over a little pregnancy tantrum."
I tried to draw a breath.
My chest felt too tight.
"Dad?"
"I'm here."
"I'm scared."
His voice broke for the first time.
"I know, sweetheart."
I closed my eyes.
"I'm scared I'm losing him."
For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was my breathing.
Then Dad said something I hadn't heard since childhood.
"Listen to me, Nora Elizabeth. You are not alone anymore."
Carter looked down at the phone.
"How very touching."
He bent close to my face.
"Your daddy doesn't scare me."
My father heard him.
"Carter?"
"What?"
"Move away from my daughter."
Carter's jaw tightened.
"You think because you have some secretary answering your calls, you're important?"
"No," Dad said.
"Then let me explain something. I know people. My uncle's a senior prosecutor. I can make sure Nora never gets a dime out of this marriage."
"Are you finished?"
Carter stared at the phone.
"What?"
"I asked if you're finished."
For the first time that evening, Carter seemed unsure how to respond.
Dad continued.
"Your wife is experiencing a medical emergency. You have admitted you're preventing her from calling for help. Every second you spend arguing is another second my daughter and grandson may not have."
Mrs. Eleanor walked toward me.
"Give me that phone."
I shook my head.
She reached down and grabbed my arm.
"Don't you dare make fools of us in front of your father."
I cried out.
Dad heard that too.
"Nora!"
"She grabbed me!"
Carter jerked the phone away.
"That's enough!"
He ended the call.
The kitchen fell silent.
For a second, I could only stare at him.
He held up the shattered phone.
"See? Problem solved."
Then he tossed it into the sink.
Mrs. Eleanor smoothed her blouse.
"Honestly, Nora. All this drama because you don't want to cook."
I stared down at the blood.
I couldn't feel my toes properly.
Something was terribly wrong.
"Carter," I whispered. "Please."
He pulled out a chair.
"What now?"
"Help me."
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then he sat down.
"Apologize to my mother first."
I thought I had misunderstood.
"What?"
"You heard me."
His mother folded her arms.
"On your knees, if you can manage it."
I looked from one face to the other.
These were the people I had spent two years trying to please.
The people I had defended to my friends.
The people I had lied for when coworkers asked about my bruises.
And now they were watching me bleed.
Waiting for an apology.
I stopped begging.
Not because the pain had gone away.
Not because I wasn't frightened.
But because something inside me finally understood.
There was nothing I could say that would make these people care whether I lived.
I lowered myself carefully to the floor.
Not to apologize.
To keep from falling.
Mrs. Eleanor smiled.
"That's more like it."
Then someone pounded on the front door.
Three heavy knocks.
A man's voice shouted from outside.
"Alexandria Police! Open the door!"
Carter sprang to his feet.
"What the hell?"
Another voice followed.
"Emergency medical services! We received a report of a pregnant woman in distress!"
Mrs. Eleanor turned toward the window.
"How did they get here so fast?"
I looked up at my husband.
His face had gone pale.
He recovered quickly, smoothing his shirt and straightening his shoulders.
"Everybody stay calm," he whispered. "I'll handle this."
He walked toward the front door.
Then he stopped, turned back, and pointed one finger directly at me.
"One lie," he said softly, "and you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
May you like
The front door opened.
And the first police officer stepped inside.
