Chapter 2 - The Silent ScreamAs I lunged toward the bed, the cold floor felt like ice beneath my feet, but it was nothing compared to the chill radiating from Clara. When she finally turned to look at me, her eyes weren't just pained—they were dilated with a terror that bypassed my suspicion and went straight to my soul.
"Ethan..." she gasped, her voice a thin, brittle thread. "You... you shouldn't be here."
I didn't care about the nightgown, the broken glass, or my mother's poison-filled warnings. I grabbed her hand, and it was clammy, ice-cold, and shaking with a rhythmic intensity. "Clara, what happened? Did someone come here? Did someone hurt you?"
She tried to push me away, her hands clumsy and weak, hitting my chest. "Go! Ethan, please, you have to leave!"
"I am not going anywhere!" I roared, my voice echoing off the walls. I grabbed the phone from the nightstand to dial 911, but as I reached for it, I saw what had actually caused the carnage. It wasn't a fight with a lover. Tucked beneath the shattered shards of our wedding photo, stained in that same bright, wet blood, was a heavy, industrial-grade steel lock—the kind used for storage units.
I looked back at her nightgown. It wasn't just on backward; the fabric was shredded, ripped open as if she had been trying to access something strapped to her back, or perhaps trying to cover a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.
"Clara," I said, my voice trembling. "What is going on? Tell me."
She looked at the broken frame, then at me, and finally, she broke. The dam of her restraint collapsed. "I didn't want you to know. They said they’d take the baby if I told you. They said you were already compromised."
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"Who? Who said that?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, and another sharp, guttural scream of pain escaped her. "Your mother, Ethan. It was your mother."
