Chapter 23
The police arrived before midnight.
So did my father’s lawyer.
Her name was Evelyn Hart.
She wore a black coat, carried a leather folder, and looked at Damon inside the kennel without blinking.
“That is one choice,” she said.
My father said, “Temporary symbolism.”
Evelyn looked at my scraped knee.
Then my wrist.
“Medical first.”
I wanted to argue.
Then the baby kicked.
Hard.
I went still.
My father saw my face.
“Hospital,” he said.
Damon gripped the bars.
“Don’t you dare leave with my child.”
My father turned.
“Your child?”
“Our child,” Damon corrected.
But the correction came too late.
Evelyn heard it.
So did the officers.
Lacey stood near the doorway wrapped in a coat now, still barefoot, still flushed with wine.
Officer Mills asked me what happened.
I told him.
Not perfectly.
My voice shook.
I hated that.
But I told him.
The kennel.
The shove.
The fall.
The robe.
The threats.
Damon interrupted from the kennel until Officer Mills ordered him silent.
At the hospital, I learned the baby was safe.
My blood pressure was high.
My knee was bruised.
My wrist had clear grip marks.
A nurse photographed everything.
My father stood in the corner, staring at the floor.
I had seen him command boardrooms, fire executives, face lawsuits, and bury my mother without shaking.
But that night his hands trembled.
“I should have come home sooner,” he said.
“You didn’t know.”
“I knew enough.”
I looked at him.
He swallowed.
“I never trusted Damon.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
I closed my eyes.
He had.
Softly at first.
Then louder.
Then not at all, after I called him controlling.
Damon had taught me to hear concern as interference.
My father sat beside the bed.
“What did you sign, Clara?”
I whispered, “I don’t know.”
His face hardened.
“Then we find out before he does anything with it.”
Evelyn entered with a tablet.
“We already did.”
May you like
Her expression told me the answer was worse than fear.
“Clara,” she said gently, “Damon filed to declare you medically unfit.”
