Chapter 4 - The Push
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The shove did not feel like an accident. It was precise, calculated, and delivered with the full weight of a woman who had spent decades burying her malice beneath a veneer of elite respectability. Both of Evelyn’s hands struck flatly against my shoulder blades, driving me forward with ruthless momentum.
"Walk softer, Clara," she whispered into the empty air just as my footing gave way.
Time seemed to fracture into jagged, agonizing shards. My foot missed the second step entirely. My arms flailed wildly, grasping at empty space where the banister suddenly felt a mile away. The first blow hit my shoulder against the unforgiving edge of a marble riser, sending a white-hot flash of agony radiating down my spine. Then came the sickening twist of my hip, followed by the most terrifying impact of all—my swollen belly striking the sharp corner of the lower steps.
A sharp, breathless gasp tore from my throat, instantly choked off by the shock wave of pain. The world spun violently, tilting sideways as I tumbled down the remaining steps like a broken doll. The last thing I heard before my body slammed against the cold white floor of the foyer was Evelyn laughing softly—a light, musical sound that belonged in a ballroom, not a slaughterhouse.
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The chandelier above blurred into a chaotic constellation of crystal and gold. My mouth filled with the metallic, copper taste of blood. One of my silk slippers lay abandoned halfway up the grand staircase, looking pathetically fragile against the dark veining of the marble.
Inside me, the violent, reassuring kicks of my baby abruptly ceased. A terrifying, dead silence settled over my womb, punctuated only by a faint, weak flutter that might have been a final heartbeat or my own body begging the universe for a miracle. A warm, spreading pool of crimson began to soak through my clothes, staining the pristine white floor beneath me.
