Chapter 3 - The Wolf at the Door
I opened the front door before they could reach the top step.
Daniel froze, his hand hovering over the porch railing. For a second, a flash of something like guilt crossed his face, but it was instantly replaced by the smooth, arrogant sneer I had learned to hate.
"Rachel," he said, stepping up onto the porch. "You really brought Lily to this dump? Look at this place. It’s unsafe for a child."
"Get off my porch, Daniel," I said.
Patricia laughed—a sharp, shrill sound that lacked any real humor. She pushed past her son, stepping up until she was standing two feet from me, her perfumed coat smelling of expensive roses and stale hairspray.
"Don't take that tone with us, Rachel," Patricia said smoothly. "We came here out of charity. Daniel felt bad about how last night ended, but let’s be realistic. You can barely stand. You have no income, no job, and your military disability pension hasn't even cleared yet."
She pulled an official legal document from her handbag and held it out to me.
"This is an emergency petition for temporary physical custody of Lily," Patricia said, her silver hair catching the morning light. "Along with a quitclaim deed for this property. Sign the land over to Whit-Tek Logistics, and Daniel will drop the custody suit. We’ll even pay off your father’s back taxes and put you in a very nice assisted-living facility in Roanoke."
I looked down at the paper, then up into Daniel’s eyes.
"You want my daughter?" I asked him softly. "The daughter you didn't even look at when your mother threw her clothes into the mud?"
Daniel looked away, clearing his throat. "It’s about stability, Rachel. I have a stable job. My mother has resources. What can you offer her here? You’re broke. You’re broken."
"I have the tape, Daniel," I said.
The silence that followed was absolute.
The wind rustled through the dying oak trees near the driveway. Daniel’s head snapped back toward me, his face turning the color of chalk.
"What did you say?" he whispered.
"October 12th," I said, stepping forward until my cane was inches from his expensive leather shoes. "The barn camera. I have you on high-definition video threatening my father. I have you telling him you’d use your contacts to keep me in Syria until I died in a box."
Patricia’s eyes darted frantically between me and her son. "She’s bluffing! Daniel, she’s lying, her father didn't have cameras—"
"He did," I interrupted, pulling my phone from my pocket and pressing play on the audio track.
Daniel’s own voice echoed across the quiet porch: “Sign it, old man! You sign this deed to Whit-Tek, or she stays over there until she comes home in a box!”
Patricia gasped, taking a step back.
Daniel’s composure completely shattered. He lunged forward, his hands reaching for my phone. "Give me that—"
I didn't back up. I swung my wooden cane with everything I had, catching Daniel square across his collarbone.
He screamed, stumbling backward over the porch steps and crashing hard into the mud below, clutching his shoulder.
Patricia shrieked, dropping her handbag. "You crazy bitch! You assaulted my son!"
"I am giving you one minute to get off my land," I said, pulling the .357 Magnum from my coat pocket and cocking the hammer back with a heavy, metallic clack. "If either of you sets foot past that tree line again, I won't use the cane."
Daniel scrambled up from the mud, his expensive coat covered in slime, holding his fractured collarbone. He looked at the gun, then at my face, realizing for the first time that the soft, quiet woman he had married had died somewhere in the deserts of the Middle East.
"You're insane," Daniel spat, blood trickling from his lip where he’d bitten his tongue. "You think some video is going to stop us? I own the county recorder, Rachel! Whit-Tek already filed a lien against this property three days ago for unpaid debts!"
"Then I’ll see you in court," I said coldly. "Now get out."
Patricia dragged her son back into the Lexus, tires screaming as she reversed down the gravel driveway, leaving a thick cloud of dust and exhaust behind them.
Behind me, the screen door squeaked open.
Lily stood in her oversized pajamas, clutching her small pink rabbit, her gray eyes wide.
"Mommy?" she whispered. "Are they going to take me away?"
May you like
I uncocked the revolver, slid it back into my coat, and dropped down to one knee despite the agonizing tear in my thigh. I pulled my daughter into my arms, holding her so tight I could feel her little heart beating against my chest.
"Nobody," I whispered into her hair, "is ever taking you away from me."
