Chapter 1 - The Glow of the Screen
I wasn’t supposed to be home. I had left work three hours early, holding a small pink blanket hidden inside a shopping bag. Savannah had been unusually quiet lately, and I wanted to surprise her. Instead, I walked into a nightmare.
“This is my son’s house! You don’t belong here!” My mother’s voice pierced the air. The bag slipped from my fingers. Savannah was curled up on the floor, one arm wrapped defensively around her pregnant belly. My mother, Bernice, stood towering over her. The moment Mom spotted me, her expression shifted instantly, her hand releasing a fistful of Savannah’s hair.
“Christopher! She fell. I was helping her.”
I dropped to my knees beside my wife. “I’m fine,” Savannah whispered, refusing to meet my gaze. Then my eyes caught the phone glowing beside her hand. The Notes app was unlocked.
March 13, 4:08 p.m.
Hair pulled.
Hit on right cheek.
Lip split after falling. Bleeding.
The words burned into my retinas. Instantly, old memories violently rearranged themselves. The mysterious burn near Savannah’s ankle. The unexplained bruise on her arm. The convenient excuses—I spilled soup. I walked into the door. Every single time, my mother had been nearby. Every single time, I had stupidly believed them. When I reached out to touch Savannah’s face, she flinched away from me. That single flinch broke something inside my chest.
I helped Savannah into our bedroom, walked straight to the guest room, and yanked my mother’s red suitcase from the closet.
“What are you doing?” Bernice demanded, marching in.
“Packing.”
Her face hardened. “You’re throwing your own mother out of your house?”
That was when I realized how deeply she believed her own delusions. “This apartment cost $8.5 million,” I said coldly. “Savannah paid $5.3 million from money she had before we married. If this home belongs to anyone more than me, it belongs to the woman you just left bleeding on the floor.”
I zipped the suitcase shut. “You’re leaving tonight.”
May you like
At the door, she glared back over her shoulder. “This isn’t over.”
She was right. It was only just beginning.
