Chapter 2
My ankle was swollen to twice its size. It was pitch black by the time I finally limped home.
I punched the code into the keypad. But it didn't work. I tried it again and again, but the door remained locked.
Suddenly, I realized what was going on and let out a bitter laugh at myself.
I sank onto the cold stone steps and waited.
At one in the morning, the door finally opened. It was Hannah, wearing one of my silk nightgowns.
She saw me, and her face immediately crumpled as she leaned weakly against Charles.
"Charlie, is Ms. Jensen still mad at me?" she murmured. "Maybe I should just leave."
Charles, who had clearly just spent hours calming her down, shot me an icy glare.
"Hannah is staying here for the duration of her pregnancy. That is not up for debate, Emily. Your fighting it is pointless."
I slowly straightened my stiff, aching legs, refusing to look at him.
"The code was changed. I couldn't get in."
He stiffened, about to argue.
I finally met his gaze.
"My phone broke. I couldn't call you."
Hannah's crying grew louder.
"Oh, Charlie, it's my fault!" she said with exaggerated self-blame. You told me to change it, remember? You were worried someone might try to get in and hurt me. I completely forgot to tell Ms. Jensen."
I was the one locked out of my own home, yet somehow, she was the victim.
I pushed myself up and walked past them into the house, ignoring the soft, soothing words he was murmuring to her.
Our bedroom door was ajar. Two pillows lay on the bed, and the duvet was a tangled mess.
My place had been taken.
I didn't go in. Instead, I walked down the hall and opened the door to the room I had made for our daughter.
It was empty. Everything was gone.
For a second, I just stood there, frozen. Then a raw, agonized sound tore from my throat.
Charles dropped Hannah instantly and bolted up the stairs, pulling my trembling body into his arms.
I grabbed his arm, my mind a black hole of pain, chanting the same words over and over.
"Her things are gone. They're all gone."
Shocked, he looked into the empty room. His gaze flickered to Hannah, who was now standing in the doorway, crying in that pretty, delicate way of hers that always made me look like a hysterical monster.
"Charlie," she sniffled. "I just wanted to make a room for our baby. I asked you, and you said I could do whatever I wanted with the stuff in here.
"Did I do something wrong again? Why does no one ever want me around?"
She clutched her stomach, her face paling as she swayed on her feet.
Before Charles could move to her, I launched myself at Hannah, my hands finding her shoulders and digging in.
"Where is it? What did you do with my daughter's things?"
It took Charles a moment to pry my fingers off her, leaving angry red marks on her skin.
He yanked her behind him, shoving me back.
"Emily, stop it!" he commanded coldly. "Our daughter is gone. Keeping that junk around is pointless. It's better that it's thrown out."
The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the hallway. A flicker of pain crossed his face as he stared at me, his wild, broken wife.
Before he could react, Hannah stepped in front of him and slapped me hard.
Her face was a mask of vicious triumph as she glared at me.
"That's for hurting Charlie," she spat. "No one touches him when I'm here.
"Only a freak like you would treasure a bunch of useless, morbid junk. You want it so bad? Go dig it out of the trash."
The stinging on my cheek was nothing.
I scrambled past them, dragging my injured leg, and ran out into the night.