Chapter 1
My husband hit my eight-month-pregnant belly and raised his foot like he was about to do it again—then my father walked through the door and slammed him to the floor.
My name is Emily Carter, and I was eight months pregnant when my marriage finally showed me what it had become.
That night, Ryan came home furious.
He threw his keys onto the counter.
“Where were you?”
“At my doctor’s appointment.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
I stared at him.
“You knew about the appointment.”
Ryan stepped closer.
Then he called me a liar.
I tried to walk away.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me back.
“Ryan, let go.”
Instead, he struck me across the stomach.
Pain shot through me.
I folded over, both hands protecting my belly.
“You’re pathetic,” he said.
I could barely breathe.
“Our baby…”
Ryan looked down at me without a trace of concern.
“You always use that baby to control me.”
I backed toward the wall.
Then he lifted his foot.
For one terrifying second, I realized he was actually preparing to kick me while I was on the floor.
“Please, Ryan.”
The front door crashed open.
My father stood there.
He had come to drop off the baby crib he had promised to assemble that weekend.
The moment he saw Ryan standing over me, his face changed.
“Get away from my daughter.”
Ryan turned.
“This is between me and my wife.”
My father crossed the room before Ryan could finish.
He grabbed him, drove him away from me, and pinned him to the floor.
Ryan struggled.
“Get off me!”
My father held him there while I reached for my phone.
Then he looked at the bruising already forming on my arm.
His expression became strangely calm.
“Emily,” he said, “call 911.”
Ryan suddenly stopped fighting.
May you like
Because my father leaned closer and whispered something I wasn’t supposed to hear.
“I know what you did to your first wife too.”
