Chapter 2 - THE MAN BEHIND THE OLD FLIP PHONEMy father had never raised his voice at me.
Not when I accidentally drove his pickup truck into a fence at sixteen.
Not when I dropped out of business school to become a nurse.
Not even when I told him I was marrying Richard Hayes despite his obvious reservations.
But that night, lying on the marble floor of my husband's mansion, I heard something in his voice I'd never heard before.
Fear.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for me.
"Emily, sweetheart, listen carefully," Dad said. "An ambulance is coming. Can you tell me how far along you are?"
"Twenty-nine weeks."
"Is the baby moving?"
I pressed a trembling hand against my stomach.
Usually, Grace kicked whenever she heard my voice.
I'd spent months complaining affectionately about her tiny feet digging into my ribs.
Now I couldn't feel anything.
"Daddy," I whispered. "She's not moving."
My father inhaled sharply.
Then his voice steadied.
"All right. I need you to focus on breathing. Help is coming."
Richard grabbed his phone off the floor.
"Okay, enough of this ridiculous conversation."
"Do not hang up," Dad said.
Richard laughed nervously.
"Or what? You'll send a tractor?"
Victoria actually smiled.
Even then.
Even with my blood spreading across the floor.
My father didn't answer the insult.
Instead, he said, "Colonel Mercer, stay on the line with emergency dispatch. Confirm the address."
"Already confirmed, sir."
"Notify St. Catherine's that a twenty-nine-week pregnant trauma patient is incoming. Her obstetrician is Dr. Allison Price."
I blinked through the pain.
How did Dad know my obstetrician's name?
I'd mentioned her only once.
"Yes, General," Mercer replied.
Richard's mouth opened.
"General?"
"Mr. Hayes," my father said quietly, "put the phone down and step away from my daughter."
Richard straightened.
"This is my house."
"Then you should know exactly where the front door is when the police arrive."
Victoria snatched the phone from Richard.
"Listen here. Whoever you are, my son is an important businessman. You cannot threaten him because his wife has become emotional."
There was a long silence.
Then Dad said, "Ma'am, my daughter has reported that she is injured and bleeding. This is a medical emergency, not a family disagreement."
Victoria's expression flickered.
She glanced at the blood.
For the first time, something resembling concern crossed her face.
Not concern for me.
Concern for herself.
"I barely touched her," she said quickly.
Richard turned toward her.
"Mom."
"What? She's exaggerating!"
The colonel's voice cut through the speaker.
"That statement has been heard. Emergency services are en route."
Victoria went pale.
I tried to lift myself off the floor.
Pain knifed through my abdomen.
I cried out.
"Emily, don't move," Dad said.
"I can't feel her."
"Keep talking to me."
I stared at the chandelier reflected in the polished marble.
"Daddy, remember when I was little and you told me the stars were God's porch lights?"
His voice broke.
"I remember."
"You said if I ever got lost, I could look up and find my way home."
"I did."
"I want to come home."
Richard stared down at me.
Something about those words appeared to frighten him more than the phone call.
"Emily, stop being dramatic. You're not leaving me."
I turned my face away.
Dad heard him.
"Richard."
"What?"
"Do not speak to her again."
Richard laughed.
"You think you can tell me what to do?"
"No," Dad replied. "But Emily can decide whether she ever wants to speak to you again."
Sirens sounded outside.
For the first time that night, I felt a tiny flicker of hope.
Then Richard grabbed my arm.
"Get up."
I screamed.
"Don't touch me!"
He leaned close.
"Listen carefully. When the paramedics arrive, you're going to tell them you slipped."
I stared at him.
He squeezed harder.
"Understand?"
Victoria hurried toward us.
"She's confused, Richard. Just tell them she fell."
I heard Dad's voice from the phone.
"Emily, can you hear me?"
I looked at my husband.
Three years of marriage.
Three years of excuses.
Three years of believing his apologies.
But he'd just chosen his reputation over our daughter's life.
"Yes, Daddy."
"Tell the truth."
Richard squeezed my wrist.
So I screamed as loudly as I could.
"MY HUSBAND HIT ME! HIS MOTHER PUSHED ME! I'M BLEEDING AND THEY WON'T HELP!"
The front door crashed open.
"EMS! WHERE'S THE PATIENT?"
Richard released my wrist.
Two paramedics rushed into the kitchen, followed by a police officer.
One paramedic knelt beside me.
"I'm Daniel. We're here to help you."
I grabbed his sleeve.
"My baby."
"We're going to take care of both of you."
He assessed me rapidly while his partner prepared the stretcher.
I heard medical terms.
Abdominal trauma.
Heavy bleeding.
Possible placental abruption.
I knew exactly what those words meant.
After eleven years working as a nurse, I'd seen women arrive at the emergency department with injuries just like mine.
Some went home holding their babies.
Others went home carrying boxes of photographs and tiny hospital bracelets.
The thought shattered me.
"Please," I whispered. "Save her."
Daniel squeezed my hand.
"Stay with us, Emily."
A police officer approached Richard.
"Sir, I need you to step into the other room."
Richard straightened his tie.
"This is all a misunderstanding."
The officer looked at the shattered phone.
Then the blood.
Then my swollen cheek.
"Step into the other room."
Victoria crossed her arms.
"I insist you contact our attorney."
"You're free to do that, ma'am."
As the paramedics lifted me onto the stretcher, I saw Richard staring at his phone.
He wasn't watching me.
He was reading something.
His eyes widened.
The screen displayed a new message.
I couldn't read the words, but I recognized the sender's name.
Jonathan Sterling.
Richard's employer.
The billionaire chairman of Sterling Capital.
Richard had spent five years trying to become a senior partner at that firm.
His entire identity revolved around earning Sterling's approval.
I watched Richard's face lose its color.
Then his phone rang.
He answered immediately.
"Mr. Sterling?"
I heard an older man's furious voice.
"Richard, tell me why General Whitaker just called my private line."
My husband's expression collapsed.
"Sir, I can explain—"
"Is your wife alive?"
Richard swallowed.
"Yes."
"Is she pregnant?"
"Yes."
"And are the police currently standing inside your home?"
Richard looked toward the officer.
"How did you—"
"Answer me."
"Yes."
The paramedics carried me toward the front door.
I caught one final sentence before we crossed the threshold.
Jonathan Sterling said, "Then you'd better pray that woman and her baby survive, because you have absolutely no idea whose daughter you married."
Outside, snow was beginning to fall.
The night sky was dark blue.
Beautiful.
Peaceful.
A terrible contrast to the chaos inside my body.
My father was still on the line.
"Emily?"
"I'm here."
"I'm coming to you."
"From Pennsylvania?"
A pause.
"No, sweetheart."
I closed my eyes.
"Where are you?"
"I'm at the Pentagon."
For a moment, I thought I'd misunderstood.
Then he said something that changed everything I believed about my childhood.
"There's something I should have told you a long time ago."
The ambulance doors slammed shut.
Before I could ask what he meant, another violent contraction twisted through me.
The paramedic shouted something to his partner.
The monitor began beeping faster.
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And the last thing I heard before darkness swallowed me was Daniel saying:
"We're losing her blood pressure. Tell the hospital to prepare the operating room!"
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