Chapter 1 - The Shattered Room
The air in my living room was thick with the scent of lilies, sugar, and iron.
Pain radiated from my lower abdomen, a dull, terrifying throbbing that made my heart hammer violently against my ribs. I lay on the hardwood floor, my cheek pressed against the polished oak, staring at the silver baby bracelet resting inches away. It caught the afternoon light, gleaming with an innocent, cruel perfection while my world shattered around me.
"Don't move, Mara. Please, God, just don't move," Lenora whimpered, her hands trembling as she smoothed my hair back from my forehead. Her face was chalky white, her eyes wild with panic. "The ambulance is coming. They're three minutes away."
"The baby..." I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. My hands remained locked around my bump, shielding my seven-month unborn child as if my fingers alone could ward off the trauma. "Lenora... is there blood?"
Lenora’s eyes flicked downward, and I saw her swallow hard. "No. No blood on your dress, sweetie. Just stay still. Breathe with me."
Behind her, the living room had descended into a nightmare of muted chaos.
My mother, Blythe, stood near the doorway, her shoulders hunched defensively. The red flush on her face had faded into a sallow, mottled gray, but there was no remorse in her eyes—only a sharp, mean vigilance, like a dog that had snapped and was waiting to see if anyone would dare hit it back.
"She provoked me!" Blythe spat, her voice shrill, cutting through the horrified murmurs of my guests. "She sat there looking smug all afternoon! She knows Calista has been trying for three years! She knows how much Calista and Julian have sacrificed! Mara gets pregnant by some... some nobody who isn't even here today, and she expects us to shower her with gifts?"
"Blythe, shut your mouth!" Aunt Clara screamed, stepping forward, her face twisted in absolute disgust. Clara had never raised her voice in her life. "You just kicked your pregnant daughter! You hit a pregnant woman! Are you out of your mind?!"
"She's a liar!" Blythe shrieked back, her fingers clutching her pearl necklace so tightly the string looked ready to snap. "She stole Calista's moment! Calista was going to announce her pregnancy today! Proper, legitimate news! Not this... this mistake!"
Beside the fireplace, my sister Calista stepped back, her pale green dress sweeping against the hearth. She looked at our mother, then at me. For a fraction of a second, her mask slipped again—a cold, calculating glare directed straight at my belly. She didn't look horrified that our mother had assaulted me; she looked disappointed that I was still conscious.
"Mom, stop talking," Calista said, though her tone lacked any real conviction. She sounded annoyed, like someone whose afternoon tea had been slightly delayed. "You're making a scene."
"A scene?!" Lenora shouted, turning her head and glaring at Calista with pure venom. "Your mother just committed aggravated assault! You stand there like a cold-blooded sociopath while your sister is bleeding on the floor?!"
"I'm not bleeding!" I choked out, a sob tearing through my throat. The emotional agony was instantly rivaling the physical pain. "Lenora, please... where is Julian?"
Calista’s eyes snapped to mine, sharp as needles. "Julian is busy. He couldn't make it today. Not that it's any of your business, Mara."
Sirens wailed in the distance, a high-pitched cry cutting through the neighborhood.
My mother panicked. "Calista, get my purse. We're leaving before the police get here."
"She isn't going anywhere," my cousin Della said, standing squarely in front of the front door, her arms crossed over her chest. Della was a paralegal, and her voice was dead, hard, and unyielding. "You step out that door, Aunt Blythe, and I will personally tackle you to the ground until the officers walk through that frame. You just assaulted your daughter in front of fourteen witnesses."
"She's my daughter! I can discipline her if I want!" Blythe yelled, her sanity fraying at the edges as the sirens grew deafeningly loud outside. "She's ruined this family! She's always been a bitter, jealous leech!"
The front door burst open.
Three paramedics rushed in, carrying heavy red jump bags, followed closely by two uniformed police officers. The sudden influx of dark uniforms and bright medical equipment seemed to drain the last bit of air from the room.
"Who called 911?" the lead paramedic, a burly man with kind eyes named Marcus, asked as he dropped to his knees beside me.
"I did," Lenora said, her voice shaking. "Her mother struck her... she kicked her in the stomach. She's seven months pregnant."
The room went dead silent. One of the police officers, a tall woman with a stern jaw, looked up from her notepad, her eyes locking onto Blythe.
"Which one is the mother?" the officer asked.
Della pointed a trembling finger. "Blythe Marrow. She's standing right there."
"It was an accident!" Blythe squeaked, her bravado instantly evaporating as the officer unclipped the handcuffs from her utility belt. "I lost my balance! She tripped me!"
"You didn't trip, Mom," I rasped from the floor, tears blurring my vision as Marcus gently pressed a heart monitor cuff against my arm. "You looked me in the eyes... and you told me to get rid of my baby."
The female officer didn't hesitate. She stepped over the fallen gifts, grabbed Blythe’s wrist, and yanked it behind her back.
"Blythe Marrow, you are under arrest for felony domestic battery and aggravated battery on a pregnant woman," the officer said, snapping the steel cuff around Blythe's wrist.
"Calista! Do something! Call your husband!" Blythe screamed, thrashing as the second officer grabbed her other arm. "Julian will fix this! Call Julian!"
Calista didn't move. She stood by the fireplace, her face pale, watching our mother get dragged toward the door. But as Blythe was pushed out into the sunlight, Calista’s eyes met mine.
She didn't look sad. She didn't look scared.
May you like
She leaned in slightly, so only Lenora and I could hear her over the chaos, and whispered four words that made my blood run colder than the marble hearth.
"You won't keep it."
