Chapter 2 - The Race for Emma
The moment Caleb was gone, the adrenaline that had kept me rigid suddenly vanished, leaving behind a cold, terrifying reality.
I was entirely dependent on a man who had just tried to physically drag me out of a hospital bed with two broken legs.
Worse, that man was now angry, humiliated, and heading back out into the world. Heading toward our home. Heading toward our seven-year-old daughter.
“Phone,” I gasped, struggling against the pillows. “Please, I need my phone.”
Nurse Jenkins gently placed it in my uninjured hand. “Deep breaths, sweetheart. You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you here.”
“He won’t hurt me,” I said, my fingers shaking as I unlocked the screen. “I’m worried about Emma.”
I dialed my younger sister, Maya. She was the polar opposite of me—fiercely independent, a martial arts instructor, and someone who had never hidden her dislike for Caleb.
“Becca? Are you okay? I was going to visit you after work,” Maya answered, her voice warm.
“Maya, drop everything. Please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Go to Emma’s school. Pick her up right now. Do not let Caleb get her.”
The warmth in Maya’s voice instantly vanished, replaced by cold steel. “What did he do?”
“He came to the hospital. He tried to force me to leave. Security threw him out, but he’s furious, Maya. He knows the only way to hurt me right now is through her. He’ll take her to punish me.”
“I’m already in my car,” Maya said, the sound of an engine roaring to life in the background. “I’m ten minutes from the school. I’ll get her, Becca. I swear to you, he won’t touch a hair on her head.”
“Take her to your apartment. Don’t go to my house. And Maya… don’t answer his calls.”
I hung up, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my bruised ribs.
Dr. Evans stood at the foot of my bed, a clipboard in his hands, his expression grave. “Rebecca, I have a social worker coming up to see you. What happened today… it’s a clear escalation of domestic violence. We need to document those bruises, and we need to talk about police involvement.”
I closed my eyes. For eleven years, I had hidden Caleb’s temper. I had covered up the emotional abuse, the financial control, the times he threw plates at the wall or screamed until his voice went hoarse. I had called it "stress." I had called it "marriage."
“Document it,” I said softly, opening my eyes. The fear was still there, but beneath it, a new emotion was taking root. Rage. “Document everything. Take pictures. I want a record of exactly who he is.”
Forty agonizing minutes passed. I stared at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick away my sanity. Every time my phone buzzed with an incoming message, I flinched. Caleb was blowing up my phone.
You’re dead to me. I’m cutting off the credit cards. Let’s see how you survive. You think you can keep my daughter from me? Watch me.
Finally, the phone rang. It was Maya.
“I have her,” Maya breathed, sounding out of breath. “We’re at my place. Becca, I pulled up just as he was walking toward the school’s front doors. I grabbed her from the playground line and bolted.”
A sob of pure relief tore from my throat. “Is she okay?”
“She’s eating ice cream and watching cartoons. But Becca… his face when he saw me driving away with her. He looked unhinged. You need a lawyer. Today.”
May you like
I looked at Emma’s drawing on the wall. I had survived a car crash that should have killed me. I wasn’t going to let Caleb destroy what was left of my life.
“Tell Emma I love her,” I whispered. “And Maya? You’re right. It’s time to fight back.”
