Chapter 2
CHAPTER 3 — The Shadow of the Shower
The room fell into a heavy, clinical quiet as the ultrasound transducer moved across my stomach.
Dr. Rhee frowned slightly, her eyes darting between the monitor and her keyboard as she made small, rapid measurements.
Lenora stepped closer to the bedside, her hand reaching down to find mine.
Her fingers were icy, but her grip was like steel.
"Is the baby..." I couldn't finish the question. The words felt too heavy for the cold air of the room.
Dr. Rhee didn't answer immediately.
She pressed the probe a little deeper, and a low, rapid, whooshing sound suddenly filled the cubicle.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
It was the heartbeat.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I’d been holding, my shoulders sinking into the stiff paper of the examination table.
"Heart rate is stable at 145," Dr. Rhee said, though her face remained serious.
"But we have a small pocket of fluid where the impact occurred. A partial placental abruption."
"What does that mean?" Lenora asked, her voice sharp, demanding.
"It means your sister is on strict bedrest," Dr. Rhee replied, turning her stool to face us.
"The next forty-eight hours are critical. If that pocket grows, we will have to deliver immediately."
"And at twenty-seven weeks, that carries significant risk."
The door to the cubicle slid open, and a hospital security officer stepped in, followed by a local police deputy.
The deputy, a woman named Officer Miller, carried a small notebook in her hand.
"Are you ready to make a statement, ma'am?" Miller asked gently.
I looked at my phone, which was still resting on Lenora’s lap.
Calista's text message was still visible on the screen.
Don’t turn this into a police thing. You know what stress does to Mom.
Stress.
My mother had spent my entire life using her fragile nerves as a shield to behave monstrously.
If she didn't get her way, she had a "spell."
If she was confronted with a lie, she suffered a "migraine" that locked her in her room for days.
And we were expected to carry the quiet weight of her storms, to sweep the broken glass under the rug and pretend the floor was smooth.
"Yes," Lenora said before I could speak.
She walked over to the deputy, her posture rigid, her voice clear.
"We are absolutely ready."
"My sister was pushed during her baby shower. Her mother, Miriam, shoved her against a solid wood dining table."
"And her sister, Calista, witnessed the entire thing."
Officer Miller began writing, the scratch of her pen against the paper sounding like a countdown.
I looked down at my hand, where the bruises from the fall were already beginning to darken against my skin.
"She said I was making it look worse than it is," I whispered to the room.
"Who said that?" Miller asked, looking up.
"My mother," I said, the last of my hesitation burning away in the cold light of the emergency room.
"She stood on the porch while the paramedics loaded me into the ambulance, and she told everyone I was faking."
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"Write that down, Officer," Lenora said, her eyes flashing with a cold, triumphant fire.
"Write down every single word."
