Chapter 1 - THE TWO-FINGER SIGNAL
My husband broke my leg while our four-year-old daughter watched from the kitchen doorway.
David drove both hands into my chest before I could move.
My hip struck the marble island. The chandelier flashed above me, the room tilted, and I landed with my right leg trapped beneath my body.
The pain came a half second later.
It tore through me so violently that I could not breathe.
Emma screamed.
She stood barefoot in pink pajamas near the hallway, both hands pressed against her mouth. Her loose brown hair was damp from her bath, and tears were already running down her cheeks.
David stared down at me in his wrinkled white shirt and loosened tie.
“Nobody is coming for you.”
Behind the island, his mother held a glass of red wine.
Margaret Pike had watched her son shove me hard enough to send the glassware rattling. She had watched my leg twist beneath me.
She did not call for help.
She covered her mouth with one hand and looked away from my injury.
“Look what you made him do,” she said.
My phone lay face-up near the island. A blurred bank notification still glowed across the screen.
A transfer had been initiated from the inheritance account my father created for me years before I met David.
David had spent three years insisting the money should belong to both of us. He called it selfish when I refused to use it to cover his business losses. He called it disrespectful when I asked why he wanted access.
That night, I finally had the answer.
The destination account belonged to an LLC controlled by Margaret.
I tried to shift my leg.
White-hot pain shot into my hip, and I nearly blacked out.
Emma took one step toward me.
“No.” I shook my head urgently. “Stay there, sweetheart.”
David turned toward her.
“Go upstairs.”
She froze.
His voice became sharper.
“Emma, now.”
I lifted my right hand from the floor.
Two fingers.
Emma looked at me.
We had practiced the signal only three times.
The first was after David locked my cellphone in his desk because I had called my father without telling him.
The second was after he stood outside the bathroom for twenty minutes, demanding to know who I had texted.
The third was one quiet Sunday morning while David and Margaret attended church.
If Mommy holds up two fingers, run to the black phone. Press the large red button. Tell Grandpa exactly what you see.
Emma’s crying softened for half a breath.
Recognition crossed her face.
“Emma,” I said through clenched teeth. “Two fingers.”
She turned and ran.
David’s head snapped toward the cordless phone near the formal dining room.
“Where are you going?”
He lunged after her.
I grabbed the leg of his pants.
He kicked free without striking me, but the movement forced him to stop long enough for Emma to reach the phone.
She pressed the speed-dial button with both thumbs and raised it to her ear.
David took another step.
“Put that down.”
Emma looked back at me.
My vision was blurring around the edges, but I nodded.
“Grandpa,” she sobbed. “Mommy looks like she’s going to die! There was a very bad accident!”
David stopped.
For the first time since I had met him, I watched fear erase the anger from his face.
The speaker crackled.
Then my father’s voice filled the kitchen.
“Emma, put the phone on speaker.”
She pressed the button.
Margaret slowly lowered her wineglass.
Dad’s voice returned, calm and clear.
“Now tell me what happened.”
David moved toward the phone.
I tightened my grip around his ankle again.
He looked down at me with naked hatred.
Emma spoke before he could reach her.
“Daddy pushed Mommy. Grandma saw.”
Margaret’s glass slipped from her fingers and struck the marble without breaking.
David crouched beside me.
“Tell him you slipped.”
My father heard him.
So did Emma.
So did the emergency dispatcher my father had already added to the call.
“David,” Dad said through the speaker, “move away from my daughter.”
David looked around the enormous kitchen as though he had just noticed the walls closing in.
May you like
Then Margaret whispered the words that would later destroy them both.
“Take the phone from the child before she says anything else.”
