It wasn’t the sound of a bone cracking. It was the sound of an impact, deep and dull.
I fell hard to the floor. My head bounced off the tile.
For a second, there was only shock. Then, the pain came. It wasn’t in my back. It was in my womb.
I felt like something had snapped.
“Ahhh!” I screamed, curling into a ball.
“Get up!” Sylvia shouted, standing beside me. “Stop pretending! You didn’t even hit your head!”
Then I felt it.
Heat. Dampness. Soaking my underwear. Spreading up my thighs.
I looked down.
Against the pristine white tiles of Sylvia’s kitchen floor, a pool of bright crimson was rapidly expanding.
“The baby…” I whispered. The horror was absolute. It choked me.
David ran into the kitchen, followed by Mark.
“What happened?” David asked, looking annoyed. “I heard a crash.”
“She slipped,” Sylvia lied instantly. “Clumsy! Look at this mess! She’s bleeding in my grout!”
David stared at the blood. He didn’t kneel. He didn’t scream for help.
He frowned. frowning.
“Oh my God, Anna,” David groaned. “Can’t you do anything without making a scene? Mark, I’m sorry. He’s… he’s having a really hard time.”
Mark was pale. “David, there’s a lot of blood. Maybe we should call 911.”
“No!” David snapped. “No ambulances. The neighbors will talk. I just finished partner training; I don’t need a domestic incident report.”
He looked at me. “Get up, Anna. Clean this up. We’ll go to the ER if you’re still bleeding.”
“ER?” I gasped. “David… I’m losing the baby! Call 911!”
“I said get up!” David screamed.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me.
Another spurt of blood. The pain was blinding now.
I realized then, with a clarity that pierced through the agony, that he didn’t care. He didn’t love me. He didn’t love our son. He loved his image. He loved his control.
To him, I wasn’t a person. I was an accessory.
And my propeller was broken.
My hand trembled as I reached into my apron pocket. My phone. I needed my phone.
“I’m going to call the police,” I sobbed.
David saw the screen light up. His eyes went black.
“Give me that!”
He snatched the phone from my hand. He didn’t just take it, he threw it.
He flung it across the kitchen. It hit the far wall with a horrifying crack and shattered into plastic shards.
“You’re not going to call anyone,” David whispered, looming over me. “You’re going to shut up. You’re going to stop bleeding. And you’re going to apologize to my mother for ruining my Christmas.”
Chapter 3: The Lawyer’s Arrogance
I lay in a pool of my own blood and the remains of my unborn child. The pain should have paralyzed me. The physical shock should have knocked me unconscious.
But something else was happening.
The Thorne bloodline was awakening.
But David had just killed my child.
The fire could no longer be extinguished. It was hell.
I stopped crying. I wiped the tears from my face with a bloody hand.
I looked at David. He was standing there, Hands on hips, radiating arrogance.
“Listen to me,” David mocked, squatting down beside me so our faces were level.
“I’m a lawyer. One of the best. I know the judges in this county. I golf with the sheriff. If you try to tell anyone, I’ll tear you apart.”
He elbowed me in the chest.
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