“I already called them.”
Three minutes later, flashing red and blue lights filled the windows of the mansion.
Guests stood nervously, grabbing coats and whispering.
The front door burst open as paramedics rushed inside.
“Where’s the patient?”
Daniel pointed toward the kitchen, his hands shaking.
The paramedics knelt beside me.
“It’s okay,” one said gently. “We’re taking you to the hospital.”
As they lifted me onto a stretcher, police officers entered the house.
“Who is Daniel Parker?” one asked.
Daniel tried to regain his confidence.
“That would be me.”
The officer studied the scene — the blood on the floor, the broken phone, the terrified faces.
“We received a report of domestic assault.”
Daniel laughed nervously.
“My wife slipped.”
One of the paramedics looked up.
“Officer, she has visible trauma.”
The officer nodded slowly.
“Mr. Parker, you may want to stop talking until you speak with an attorney.”
The irony hung heavily in the air.
Because Daniel was the attorney.
As the ambulance doors closed, I finally allowed my eyes to shut.
When I woke up later, the smell of antiseptic filled the hospital room.
A heart monitor beeped steadily beside me.
“Don’t move.”
I opened my eyes and saw my father sitting beside the bed, still wearing his dark suit.
His face looked older than I remembered.
“Dad…”
He took my hand immediately.
“I’m here.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“The baby?”
For a moment he didn’t answer.
Then he said softly, “The doctors stopped the bleeding.”
I held my breath.
“The baby is alive.”
Relief washed over me so suddenly that I began to cry.
“You need rest,” he said gently. “And you will never return to that house.”
A doctor entered the room and reviewed my chart.
“She’s stable,” he told my father. “But another hour without treatment could have been fatal.”
My father closed his eyes briefly.
After the doctor left, I asked quietly, “What happened to Daniel?”
My father sighed.
“His law firm already knows.”
“And?”
“Let’s just say they were not pleased to hear his name connected to domestic violence.”
“Is he arrested?”
“Not yet,” my father admitted.
Then he added calmly,
“But investigations move quickly when the police, the courts, and the press are all watching.”
Three months later, I was sitting in my father’s garden, sunlight warming the spring air.
My pregnancy had stabilized.
The baby was healthy.
My father walked outside holding a newspaper.
“Emma,” he said.
He showed me the front page.