“It’s your word against ours. My mother will testify that you slipped up. Mark… Mark didn’t see anything, did he, Mark?”
Mark, standing in the doorway, looked terrified. “I… I didn’t see anything.”
“See?” David asked with a cruel, shark-like grin. “You have no witnesses. Har
I’ll have you locked up, Anna.
I’ll say you’re mentally unstable. Postpartum psychosis before you’re even born.
I’ll lock you up in a prison where no one will hear you scream. You’ll never beat me. I know the bylaws. I know the loopholes.
I looked at him. I really looked at him. I saw the cheap suit. The desperate ambition. The smallness of his soul.
“You’re right, David,” I said. My voice was calm, but it wasn’t shaking. “You know the bylaws.”
I sat up, leaning against the cabinets.
“But you don’t know who wrote them.”
David frowned. “What are you talking about? Is the blood loss making you delirious?”
“Give me your phone,” I said.
“What?”
“Give me your phone,” I repeated. “Call my father.”
David laughed. It was a frantic, incredulous sound. He stood up and looked at his mother. “Did you hear that? She wants to call her dad. The retired office worker from Florida. What’s he going to do? Write me a stern letter?”
“Call him,” I said. “Put it on speaker.”
David shook his head, pulling his new iPhone 15 Pro out of his pocket. “Fine. Let’s call him. Let’s tell him his daughter is a clumsy, hysterical woman who can’t even handle a pregnancy.”
He unlocked the phone. “What’s the number?”
I recited it from memory. It wasn’t a Florida area code. It was a Washington, D.C. area code. A specific prefix used only by high-ranking government officials.
David paused as I typed it in. “202? That’s DC.”
“Just dial, David.”
He pressed call. He put it on speaker, holding it out mockingly.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Chapter 4: “This is the Chief Justice”
The phone didn’t go to voicemail. It didn’t go to a secretary.
It clicked open.
“Identify yourself,” a voice boomed.
It wasn’t a casual greeting. It was an order. The voice was deep, gruff, and carried the weight of absolute, unquestionable authority.
David blinked. “Uh… Hello? Is this Mr. Thorne?”
“I told you to identify yourself,” the voice repeated, this time colder. “You’ve dialed a restricted federal line. Who is this?”
David’s arrogance faltered slightly. “This is David Miller. I’m Anna’s husband. Look, your daughter has caused quite a stir here, and…”
“Anna?” The voice changed instantly. The official tone cracked, revealing the terrified father beneath. “Where’s my daughter? Put her on the phone.”
“She’s here,” David said, rolling his eyes. “Crying on the floor because she slipped.”
He shoved the phone toward my face.
“Dad?” I whispered.
“Anna?” My father’s voice was sharp. “Anna, why are you calling from this number? Why are you crying?”
“Dad…” A sob broke my composure. “They hurt me. David and his mother. Sylvia pushed me. I fell… I’m bleeding, Dad. There’s so much blood. I think… I think the baby’s gone.”
The silence on the other end of the line was absolute. It was an emptiness.
David looked at me, confused. “Why are you telling her that? She can’t help you.”
Then the voice returned. But it wasn’t a father’s voice anymore. It was God’s voice.
“David Miller,” my father said.
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