Chapter 3: The Hospital
The police arrived ten minutes later.
Two officers took Grant into the living room to question him while another officer stayed with me. My father refused to leave my side. Evelyn sat on the couch downstairs, silent and pale, while an officer took her statement.
I was taken to the hospital for a full examination. My father rode in the ambulance with me. He didn’t say much during the ride, but he held my hand the entire time. His grip was steady and warm.
At the hospital, they ran tests on the baby and documented every bruise. The nurse taking photos of my injuries had kind eyes, but she didn’t ask unnecessary questions. She had clearly done this before.
After the examination, a doctor told us the baby was fine. The bruises on my ribs were painful but not dangerous. The marks on my wrist and stomach would fade in time.
When the doctor left, my father and I were alone in the room.
He sat in the chair beside my bed, staring at the floor. For the first time since he arrived that morning, he looked tired. Older.
“Dad,” I said softly.
He looked up.
“I should have told you,” I whispered. “I wanted to. So many times. But they kept saying no one would believe me. That I was being dramatic. That it was just pregnancy hormones.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“I should have come sooner,” he said. “I knew something was wrong. You stopped sounding like yourself on the phone. I kept making excuses for why you weren’t answering. I told myself you were just tired.”
He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw real pain in his eyes.
“I failed you, Claire.”
I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “You didn’t. You came when it mattered most.”
He was quiet for a long moment.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked.
I looked down at my hands.
“I want to leave him,” I said. “I want to protect this baby. And I don’t want Grant anywhere near us.”
My father nodded.
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“But Claire… this won’t be easy. Grant is an Army captain. His family has connections. They’re going to fight dirty.”
I met my father’s eyes.
“I know,” I said. “But I’m done being quiet.”
My father studied me for a long moment. Then, for the first time that day, a small, proud smile touched his lips.
“That’s my girl,” he said quietly.
He reached over and gently placed his hand over mine.
“We’ll handle this together,” he said. “One step at a time.”
May you like
I nodded, blinking back tears.
For the first time in months, I didn’t feel alone.
