Chapter 1 - THE BANG AGAINST THE GARAGE DOOR
The cigarette glowed less than an inch from my stomach.
“I’ll burn this baby out of my way before I let you keep my house,” Ethan said.
I backed into the garage door, both arms wrapped beneath my belly. At thirty-four weeks pregnant, I could no longer move quickly. The oil-stained concrete felt cold through my socks, and every breath pulled against the older burns hidden beneath my gray sweatshirt.
Carol stood beside the workbench in her beige cardigan, watching her son as if he were repairing a broken appliance.
“Do it faster,” she said. “She and that baby are costing you everything.”
“Take the house,” I begged. “Take the money. Just let me leave.”
Ethan smiled and flicked the lighter again.
“I already have someone else, Megan. You’re both in the way.”
He had taken my phone three days earlier. Carol guarded the side door whenever he brought me into the garage. They kept the blinds closed and told neighbors I was on bed rest.
That night, something was wrong inside my body. The baby had barely moved since dinner. A deep pressure had started beneath my ribs, followed by waves of dizziness that made the room tilt.
I lowered one hand toward the concrete, trying not to fall.
Ethan caught my wrist.
“You don’t get to collapse until you sign.”
On the workbench lay a quitclaim deed, a life-insurance change form, and an agreement transferring my share of the house to him.
The house had belonged to my grandmother. Ethan’s name had been added after our wedding, but I still owned half.
Carol picked up the pen.
“Sign, and this stops.”
A hard bang shook the garage door.
All three of us froze.
Another blow followed.
“Police! Open the door!”
Carol turned toward the side exit. Ethan dropped the cigarette and reached for the papers.
The garage door began to rise from outside.
Cold air rushed beneath it, followed by flashlight beams and the voice of our neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez, shouting that I was on the floor.
Ethan stepped backward.
I remember the cigarette smoking near my shoe. I remember a police officer crawling beneath the half-open door.
Then I remember nothing.
When I woke two days later, a hospital monitor pulsed beside me.
My sister Rachel sat near the window with both hands covering her face.
I touched my stomach.
The baby was still there.
Rachel stood quickly.
“He’s alive,” she said. “But Megan, the doctors found something in your blood.”
May you like
It was not smoke inhalation.
Someone had been giving me a sedative for weeks.
