DAVID’S RUN
David had returned early because of a text from the housekeeper.
Not from Rachel.
From Helen, who had worked for the Whitmores since David was sixteen.
The message had only five words.
Come home. Bring no warning.
David read it in the back seat outside the office tower and felt something cold open in his stomach.
He called Rachel.
No answer.
He called again.
Still nothing.
By the time his car reached the mansion gates, he was already out before the driver fully stopped.
Inside, the hallway was flooded with sunlight.
Above him, voices rose from the second-floor balcony.
Then he heard Rachel.
“Please, don’t!”
David looked up.
He saw white satin.
He saw Rachel’s terrified face.
He saw his mother’s hand near her shoulder.
Then Rachel went over the railing.
David did not think.
He ran.
The marble floor blurred under him. Someone screamed his name from upstairs. His suit jacket pulled tight across his shoulders as he sprinted beneath the chandelier.
Rachel fell in a controlled spin of white fabric and brown hair, one arm wrapped around her belly.
David dropped onto one knee.
Pain shot up his leg as he slid across the polished floor.
He reached both arms forward.
Rachel crashed into him.
He wrapped himself around her before the marble could touch her.
For one second, nothing moved.
Then Rachel sobbed.
May you like
David held her tighter.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ve got you.”
