Chapter 1 - THE VOICE ON SPEAKER
“Identify yourself.”
The voice on David’s phone was calm.
Not confused.
Not sleepy.
Official.
David glanced at the number on the screen.
Then he looked at me.
“This is David Whitmore,” he said.
“I’m calling on behalf of my wife, Anna.”
There was a brief silence.
Then the man asked one question.
“Why is my daughter crying?”
Every person within hearing distance stopped moving.
David’s expression changed.
Sylvia’s smile remained frozen on her face.
One of the attorneys from David’s firm slowly stepped away from the dining room table.
David cleared his throat.
“Sir, I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“What happened to Anna?”
“It’s a family disagreement.”
I was still sitting on the kitchen floor.
The pain in my abdomen came in hard waves.
My dress felt damp beneath me.
I could barely keep my eyes open.
“Dad,” I whispered.
The voice on the phone softened for one second.
“Anna, are you injured?”
“Yes.”
David reached toward the phone.
I forced myself to speak louder.
“Sylvia pushed me into the counter.”
The room went silent.
“I’m bleeding.”
My father’s tone changed immediately.
“David, call emergency services.”
David gave a nervous laugh.
“She’s exaggerating.”
“I said call 911.”
“You don’t understand how emotional she becomes.”
My father did not raise his voice.
He did not need to.
“David Whitmore, this is Chief Justice Jonathan Hale.”
The attorney near the dining room doorway dropped his wineglass.
It shattered across the hardwood floor.
Sylvia stared at the phone.
David’s face went completely white.
My father continued.
“You will place that phone beside my daughter.”
“You will not touch her again.”
“You will not interfere with medical treatment.”
“And you will not leave that house.”
David’s hand began to tremble.
“I didn’t realize—”
“No.”
My father cut him off.
“You did not realize who her father was.”
“That is very different from not realizing what you were doing.”
Sirens sounded faintly in the distance.
David looked toward the front windows.
Red light began flashing against the snow outside.
Sylvia stepped backward.
“You called the police?”
My father answered through the speaker.
“I called more than the police.”
Someone pounded on the front door.
“County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Open the door.”
David stared down at me.
For the first time in our marriage, fear replaced arrogance in his eyes.
May you like
I held my stomach and whispered the words he had spent years teaching me never to say.
“You’re not in control anymore.”
