Chapter 1 - The Shattered Door
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The bathroom door exploded inward before I had time to move. Wood splintered across the white tile, sharp fragments bouncing against my ankles.
Instinctively, I threw my good arm over my eight-month pregnant belly, turning my body to shield my unborn daughter from whatever was coming next. Pain ripped through my shattered left forearm so violently that thick black spots crowded the edges of my vision.
Ethan stood in the ruined doorway, breathing heavily beneath his crisp white dress shirt. Behind him, Vanessa was smiling—not nervous, not horrified, but wearing a slow, cruel smirk.
My husband held a tumbler of whiskey in his right hand. He had poured it moments after twisting my wrist and forearm until the bone visibly snapped beneath his grip. One amber drop slid over his knuckles as though nothing extraordinary had happened in this apartment.
His eyes dropped to the phone clutched in my right hand.
“Who did you call, Lena?” Ethan asked, his voice low and dangerous.
I backed up until my spine hit the cold porcelain of the sink. My throat felt like powdered glass.
“My father,” I whispered.
Ethan stared at me for one second before letting out a harsh, barking laugh.
“Your father?”
Vanessa leaned around his shoulder, her manicured hand resting possessively on his chest.
“She doesn’t have a father, Ethan. She told you her mother raised her alone in some dump out in Jersey.”
Ethan’s smile widened into something ugly. “That’s right. Your old man abandoned you before you could even walk.”
The phone was still connected. I couldn't hear any breathing or questions from the speaker, just a heavy, suffocating silence. But I knew the man on the other end was listening.
Vincent Moretti was listening.
Ethan stepped across the broken wood. “Give me the phone, Lena.”
“Stay away from me,” I choked out.
“I said give me the damn phone!”
I tightened my grip, my knuckles turning white. “No.”
Vanessa scoffed softly. “She still thinks she gets to make choices in this house.”
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Ethan lunged forward. I tried to twist away, but a sudden, violent contraction seized my entire lower abdomen. Hard. Far harder than any Braxton Hicks I had felt before.
I gasped, doubling over as my fingers nearly slipped off the glass screen.
