Chapter 2
The pounding continued.
Ryan didn't move.
He just stared at his mother, his face a mask of confusion and dawning horror.
Diane wouldn't look at him.
Her eyes were fixed on the phone in my hand, wide with fear.
"Who's at the door?" Ryan whispered.
I already knew.
My father was many things.
Reckless wasn't one of them.
He wouldn't have gotten in his car and driven all this way without backup.
Not after what I told him.
The pounding came again, harder this time.
Followed by a voice.
"Police! Open the door!"
Diane made a small, strangled sound.
Ryan stood up slowly.
He looked from his mother to me, then to the phone.
"You called the police?"
"Your father called them," I said.
And I wasn't sorry.
Not even a little bit.
Ryan walked to the front door.
He opened it.
Two uniformed police officers stepped inside, followed by two paramedics with a stretcher.
The lead officer looked around.
His gaze landed on me first.
Sitting on the kitchen floor.
Pale.
In pain.
Then he looked at Diane.
Still red-eyed from crying.
And Ryan.
Standing there, looking like he might throw up.
"Who called 911?" the officer asked.
"My father," I said. "He's on the phone."
I held up the phone.
The officer stepped closer and took it.
"This is Officer Martinez. Who am I speaking with?"
I couldn't hear Dad's side of the conversation.
But I watched the officer's face.
It grew more serious with every word.
He nodded once.
Twice.
"I understand, sir. We'll take care of everything. She's in good hands."
He handed the phone back to me.
"Your father's on his way. He said to tell you he loves you."
My throat tightened.
I nodded.
The paramedics moved toward me.
"Ma'am," one of them said gently. "We need to take a look at your leg."
They knelt down beside me.
The woman paramedic's hands were kind as she examined my leg through my jeans.
I winced when she pressed gently.
"Definitely broken," she said quietly. "We'll get you on a stretcher and to the hospital. You'll be okay."
Ryan started toward me.
"Emily—"
The officer stepped between us.
"Sir, I need you to stay back while we treat the victim."
Victim.
The word hung in the air.
Ryan flinched like he'd been hit.
Diane made a sound.
"Officer, this is all a misunderstanding. That woman attacked me first. I was defending myself—"
"Ma'am," the officer said, turning to her. "I'm going to need you to come with me. We need to get your statement down at the station."
Diane's eyes went wide.
"Me? You're arresting me? I'm the victim here! She threatened me. Ask my son. Ryan, tell them."
Ryan looked at his mother.
Then at me.
I was being lifted onto the stretcher now, the paramedics moving carefully to avoid jostling my leg too much.
The pain was getting worse, throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
But I held Ryan's gaze.
I didn't say anything.
I just looked at him.
Waited to see what he would do.
"Ryan!" Diane shrieked. "Tell them! Tell them what she did!"
Ryan opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"I... I don't know," he said finally. "I didn't see everything. I just walked in and..."
He trailed off.
Diane looked at him like he'd stabbed her in the heart.
The officer took Diane's arm.
She didn't resist.
She just stared at her son, betrayal written all over her face.
As they led her out, she looked back at me.
Her eyes were full of pure hatred.
"This isn't over," she mouthed.
I didn't look away.
The paramedics wheeled me toward the door.
Ryan stood there, frozen in the middle of the kitchen.
His whole world was falling apart.
And for the first time in five years, I didn't feel responsible for fixing it.
As they carried me out to the ambulance, I saw headlights coming down the road.
Fast.
A black truck I would recognize anywhere.
My father.
He pulled into the driveway so hard the tires screeched.
He was out of the truck before it even stopped moving.
He ran toward the ambulance.
The paramedics paused.
Dad looked at me on the stretcher.
His face crumpled.
For just a second.
Then it hardened into something I'd only seen a few times in my life.
Pure, unadulterated rage.
He leaned down, brushing hair from my face.
His hand was shaking.
"I'm here, baby," he said. "I'm so sorry. I should have known. I should have seen it."
I shook my head.
"It's not your fault, Dad."
He kissed my forehead.
Then he stood up and turned toward the house.
Ryan was standing in the doorway.
"Dad," Ryan started.
My father walked toward him.
He didn't yell.
He didn't hit him.
He just got right in Ryan's face and spoke in a voice so cold it could have frozen water.
"If you ever come near my daughter again," he said, "I will make sure you spend the rest of your life regretting it. Do you understand me?"
Ryan swallowed hard.
He nodded.
Dad turned and walked back to the ambulance.
He climbed in beside me.
The paramedics closed the doors.
The siren started.
As we pulled away from the house, I looked back.
Ryan was still standing in the doorway.
Alone.
I thought I would feel something.
Sadness.
Regret.
Grief for the marriage I'd thought I had.
But I felt nothing.
May you like
Nothing except the pain in my leg.
And the quiet, unshakable certainty that everything was about to change.
