Chapter 1 - The Breaking Point in the Bathroom
The first time Hannah Mercer understood that her husband might actually kill the life growing inside her, she was sitting on the cold bathroom tile with one hand pressed tightly over her swollen stomach and the other wrapped around a phone she could barely hold.
"Open the door, Hannah."
Derek’s fist struck the solid oak with a brutal force that made the heavy mirror above the sink tremble on its mounting brackets.
"Open it right now."
Hannah pressed her palm firmly against her mouth to catch any sound of a sob. She was twenty-seven weeks pregnant—six and a half months along—and less than fifteen minutes earlier, the man standing just inches away on the other side of that locked door had informed her that she was going to apologize to his mistress.
When Hannah had flatly refused, something cold and monstrous inside Derek had shifted.
Not suddenly, she realized with sudden, terrifying clarity. Honestly. For the first time in four years of marriage, Derek had simply stopped hiding behind his polished veneer and polite smiles to reveal what he truly was.
Another heavy blow rattled the frame.
Hannah stared down at the dark, ugly bruises already rising along her pale forearm where his fingers had closed around her flesh like a vise. Her shoulder throbbed with a dull, sickening ache. Her cheek burned where she had violently struck the sharp edge of the hallway mahogany cabinet while desperately trying to get away from him.
Yet despite the pain radiating through her entire body, all she could think about was the fragile life resting beneath her ribs.
Please move, she whispered silently to the darkness. Please, baby.
Her trembling hand spread wider across the tight curve beneath her silk dress. For three agonizing, suffocating seconds, there was absolute silence from within. Then, like a small, miraculous heartbeat, a tiny kick pressed firmly against her palm.
Hannah broke.
She lowered her head, weeping silently as pure relief and overwhelming terror collided violently inside her chest.
Outside the door, Derek’s voice suddenly changed. That shift frightened her even more than his rage.
"Baby," he said softly, his tone dripping with fake sweetness. "Come on. Let me in. I’m sorry."
Hannah looked toward the knob, her breath catching.
"I just lost my temper," Derek murmured.
Silence stretched between them.
"You really embarrassed me tonight," he added, the tenderness vanishing almost as quickly as it had appeared. "You know what Courtney means to the company expansion. You know everything I’ve invested in that business relationship."
Relationship.
The word landed differently now, stripped of all corporate pretense.
Hannah’s thumb hovered over the emergency keypad on her locked phone screen. Then, she stopped. Not because she believed a single word coming out of Derek's mouth—not anymore—but because another name had caught her eye in her contacts list.
Dad.
For nearly an entire year, she had been ignoring her father’s quiet, persistent inquiries. Are you happy, Hannah? Why does Derek always answer for you? Why don’t you ever come visit us without him? Why did you quit your job?
She had laughed each question away over the phone. She had angrily defended Derek’s controlling behavior. She had even become furious with her father for asking, accusing him of being overly critical and old-fashioned.
Now, with tears blurring her vision, Hannah pressed the call button.
Robert Mercer answered before the phone could even ring a second time.
"Hey, sweetheart," her father said, his voice warm and familiar.
Hannah tried to speak, but nothing came out. Her throat felt completely dry, constricted by absolute terror.
Robert’s tone changed instantly, shedding its casual warmth. "Hannah?"
"Dad."
It was just one single word, but the broken tone of it told him everything. Her entire body began shaking violently.
"Dad, I need you."
A heavy pause on the line. "What happened?"
She looked toward the bathroom door just as Derek struck it again, harder this time.
Robert heard the wood splintering through the speaker. "Hannah." His voice became frighteningly, unnaturally calm. "Where are you?"
"In the bathroom."
"Is Derek there?"
She swallowed hard, tasting copper. "Yes."
"Are you hurt?"
Hannah looked down at her stomach, panic rising. "I don’t know."
The silence on the other end lasted less than a second, but a profound transformation occurred within it. Her father instantly stopped being the gentle, retired man who made terrible pancakes on Sunday mornings and complained about the rising price of coffee at the local diner.
His voice became the voice she vividly remembered from her childhood whenever a severe storm warning came over the emergency radio. Focused. Absolute. Certain.
"Lock the door. Do not open it for him under any circumstances."
"Dad—"
"I’m coming."
"Please hurry, he's going to break the door down."
"I’m already moving," Robert said, and the call abruptly disconnected.
Outside the bathroom, Derek let out a sharp, mocking laugh. Not because anything was remotely funny, but because he had heard enough of her end of the conversation to feed his arrogant ego.
"You called your father?" Derek sneered through the wood.
Hannah stayed completely silent.
"Oh, that is just precious," Derek scoffed, his footsteps moving away down the hall, then returning a moment later. "You’re twenty-nine years old, Hannah. What is your retired father going to do? Drive down here and ground me?"
May you like
She closed her eyes tightly.
Derek had always underestimated Robert Mercer. But then again, almost everyone who didn't know him well made that exact same fatal mistake.
