Chapter 1
The living room of my childhood home in suburban Chicago felt like a courtroom where I was perpetually the defendant. The air was stale, permanently steeped in the scent of my father David’s expensive cigars and the heavy, cloying lavender potpourri my mother, Linda, used to mask the underlying odor of decay.
I sat on the edge of the stiff, floral-patterned armchair, my hands instinctively resting on my lower abdomen. My husband, Michael, sat beside me. His presence was a warm, solid wall against the unseasonal chill of the room. He reached over and squeezed my hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my palm. His quiet confidence was the only thing keeping my anxiety tethered to the ground.
Across from us, sprawled on the velvet sofa like a displaced queen holding court, was my younger sister, Erica. At twenty-six, she still lived at home, unemployed, unapologetic, and radiating a bitter, restless energy. My parents sat in matching wingback chairs, their expressions guarded, as if bracing themselves for a bill they didn’t want to pay.
This was the dynamic. The covert contract I had unwittingly signed at birth: I was the sponge for their dysfunction, the steady, reliable rock they could chip away at, while Erica was the fragile glass figurine they kept in a locked, gilded cabinet.
I took a deep breath. I slid my left hand into the pocket of my oversized cardigan. My fingers blindly found the side button of my smartphone. I pressed it, feeling the subtle haptic vibration confirming the voice memo app had started recording. I wanted to capture this. I wanted an audio keepsake of the gasps of joy, the tears of happiness, the moment our family finally came together.
I was so profoundly naive.
“We have big news,” I announced, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to project confidence.
Michael beamed, his whole face illuminating the dreary room. “We’re having a baby.”
The air went thin. I waited for the smiles. I waited for the warmth. Instead, my mother’s polite smile was a flicker that died instantly as she darted a nervous glance at Erica, whose face had darkened into a sudden, violent thundercloud.
“Twelve weeks?” my father frowned, leaning forward, his brow furrowed in disapproval rather than surprise. “And you’re just telling us now? Don’t you think your own family deserves to know first? We had to hear about your partnership at the firm from a neighbor, and now this?”
“We wanted to wait until the first trimester was over, Dad,” I explained, keeping my tone level. “Just to be safe. It’s standard.”
“Safe from what?” Erica scoffed. She stood up, a predatory curiosity glinting in her eyes. She walked over to me, her movements sharp and erratic. In her right hand, she held a steaming mug of peppermint tea. She looked down at my stomach with undisguised disdain. “It doesn’t look like much. You’re barely showing. Are you sure it’s even real? Or is this just another attention grab?”
The casual cruelty of the question took my breath away. A cold dread coiled in my gut. Michael stiffened beside me, his jaw visibly clenching.
“Erica,” my mother said softly, a warning note in her voice—not to correct Erica’s behavior, but to preemptively manage my reaction to it. “Be nice, sweetie.”
Erica ignored her. “It just looks like you’ve been eating too much pasta, Sarah,” she sneered. “But then again, you always did struggle with your weight.”
“Hey!” Michael snapped, his voice cutting through the heavy air. “Don’t talk to my wife like that. Back up.”
Erica’s eyes flashed. She didn’t back up. Instead, she took a deliberate half-step forward. Her foot intentionally caught the edge of the thick Persian rug. With a theatrical gasp, she lunged forward.
The scalding hot tea sloshed out of the mug, splashing directly onto my lap and chest.
I shrieked, jumping up as the burning liquid soaked through my clothes. “What the hell!”
“Oh my god, I tripped! You startled me, Michael!” Erica wailed, immediately playing the victim.
But as I stood there, frantically brushing the hot fabric away from my skin, distracted and vulnerable, Erica’s demeanor shifted in a fraction of a second. The fake panic vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating malice. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper that barely carried over the commotion.
“I bet if I really tried, I could make it quiet.”
Before my brain could even process the grotesque threat, she shifted her weight. I saw the heavy, steel-toed combat boot she always wore swing backward.
The impact was a brutal explosion of agony. She kicked me squarely in the lower abdomen with the force of a battering ram. The shock was paralyzing. My vision whited out. My hands flew to my stomach as my knees buckled.
May you like
I stumbled backward, entirely off balance. The world tilted sideways. I saw the spinning blades of the ceiling fan. I saw Michael’s terrified face lunging toward me.
And then, the back of my skull slammed against the sharp, solid oak corner of the coffee table. A sickening crack echoed in my ears, followed by a blinding flash of light, and then, total darkness.
