Chapter 2 - The Arrival
The flashing red and blue lights painted the walls of our dining room before the police cars even came to a full stop.
David frantically tried to straighten his silk tie, running a hand through his hair to look presentable.
Margaret rushed to the sink, desperately washing her wine glass to hide the fact that she had been drinking while her daughter-in-law lay broken on the floor.
Heavy fists pounded on the custom mahogany front door, followed immediately by the sound of keys turning in the lock.
My father always kept a spare key, and tonight, it was his weapon of entry.
The door flew open, hitting the wall with a thunderous crash that shook the foyer.
My father, Arthur Sterling, strode into the kitchen, flanked by three armed police officers.
He was a man who commanded respect without ever having to demand it, wearing a sharp charcoal suit that looked completely undisturbed.
His eyes locked onto me, and for a fraction of a second, I saw his heart break.
But he instantly swallowed his fear, his jaw setting into a rigid, unforgiving line.
"Get away from her," my father growled at David, stepping smoothly between me and my husband.
"Officers, please observe the scene," he said calmly, pointing to my twisted leg and the bruises already forming on my arms.
David immediately raised his hands in surrender, forcing a tear to roll down his cheek.
"Officer, thank God you are here," David cried, playing the part of the traumatized husband perfectly.
"My wife has been struggling with her mental health, she was drinking and she slipped by the kitchen island!"
One of the officers stepped forward, pulling out a notepad while paramedics rushed into the room behind them.
"Is that true, ma'am?" the officer asked, looking down at me with careful scrutiny.
Before I could force the words past the agonizing pain in my chest, the downstairs bathroom door creaked open.
Emma stepped out, clutching my locked cell phone to her chest.
She marched directly over to the tallest police officer and pointed a trembling little finger straight at David.
"Daddy pushed Mommy really hard," she said, her voice ringing out clear and true in the silent kitchen.
"He pushed her into the wood, and then Grandma said it was Mommy's fault."
Margaret gasped, clutching her chest as if she had been physically struck by the child.
"You lying little brat," Margaret whispered violently, completely forgetting the police were in the room.
The lead officer’s expression instantly turned to stone as he unclipped his handcuffs.
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"David Vance, turn around and place your hands behind your back," the officer ordered.
As the paramedics lifted me onto the stretcher, I watched the steel cuffs lock around the wrists of the man who thought he owned me.
