Chapter 2
The officer’s voice was gentle, but his eyes were hard.
He sat me down on the porch steps, away from the flashing lights and the noise.
Emma stayed close to my side, her small hand clamped around mine.
Lucas was still whimpering in the paramedic’s arms, his cheek red where it had hit the floor.
“Let’s go through them one by one,” the officer said.
He tapped play on the first video.
The date stamp was three weeks earlier.
I was working a double shift at the hospital.
Ryan was sitting on the couch, drinking beer.
Lucas was in his bouncer, crying.
Ryan didn’t even look at him.
“Shut up,” he muttered.
When Lucas cried harder, Ryan stood up and shook the bouncer so hard the baby’s head snapped back and forth.
I gasped.
My hand flew to my mouth.
Emma pressed her face into my shoulder.
The next video was a week later.
Carol was there.
She was holding Emma by the arm, squeezing so tight my daughter’s face was twisted in pain.
“Your mother is crazy,” Carol said. “She hits your dad when she’s mad. Soon she’ll hit you too. We’re going to save you from her.”
Emma tried to pull away.
“I want Mommy.”
Carol slapped her across the leg.
“You’ll learn to be grateful.”
I felt sick.
I had trusted Carol.
I had let her watch my kids when I worked late.
I had called her for advice when Ryan and I fought.
The last video was from two nights before.
Ryan and Carol were standing in the kitchen, whispering.
Carol held up a stack of papers.
“These are the custody forms,” she said. “Once we prove she’s violent, the kids are ours. And the trust fund your father left them? That’s ours too. We’ll use it to pay off the house, buy that cabin you want.”
Ryan smiled.
“Lila will be happy. She said she’ll move in once the divorce is final.”
Lila.
His coworker.
The woman he’d told me a hundred times was just a friend.
I stood up so fast my head spun.
The officer reached for my arm.
“Ma’am—”
“Where is he?” I shouted. “Where is that bastard?”
Ryan was sitting in the back of a police car, his hands cuffed behind his back.
He saw me coming and rolled his eyes.
“You’re making a mistake,” he yelled through the closed window. “Carol will fix this. You’ll never see those kids again.”
Then I saw Carol.
She was standing by her car, watching me.
She didn’t look scared.
She looked smug.
She held up her phone and mouthed two words.
Game on.
Thirty minutes later, the police took Ryan to jail.
The paramedics said Lucas had a mild concussion and needed to be monitored overnight at the hospital.
I packed a bag for Emma and Lucas, grabbed their favorite stuffed animals, and walked out to my car.
I stopped at the ATM on the way to the hospital.
I needed cash for snacks, for gas, for anything that might come up.
I slid my card in.
Typed my PIN.
Clicked “Withdraw $200.”
The screen flashed red.
INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
I frowned.
There was over twelve thousand dollars in that account that morning.
Ryan’s bonus check had been deposited the day before.
I clicked “Check Balance.”
$12.47.
My knees went weak.
He’d drained it.
Every last dollar.
I checked my savings account.
Same thing.
Empty.
Emma tugged on my shirt.
“Mommy? What’s wrong?”
I looked at my daughter.
Her eyes were red from crying.
Her arm still had a faint bruise from Carol’s hand.
Lucas was asleep in his car seat, his little chest rising and falling.
I had twelve dollars and forty-seven cents.
Two kids to protect.
A husband and mother-in-law who wanted to destroy me.
Then my phone rang.
The caller ID was Carol’s name.
I didn’t answer.
But the voicemail popped up a minute later.
May you like
I pressed play.
“Clara, dear,” Carol’s voice purred. “I see you checked your bank account. I told Ryan to leave you enough for a cheap motel. Don’t worry about the kids. I’ll pick them up from the hospital tomorrow. The judge already signed the temporary custody order. You should have just been a good wife. Now you have nothing.”
