Chapter 3 - The Threat in the Crib
By the second day in the high-dependency unit, the physical danger to Megan had stabilized, but the psychological walls of our life were completely shattered. The hospital room was under constant police guard, a uniform officer sitting outside the glass door, his utility belt clicking every time he shifted his weight.
Megan lay against the propped-up pillows, her face pale but clearer than it had been in weeks. Her legs were suspended in clean, white medical cradles, the thick layers of sterile gauze hiding the horror beneath.
I sat in the chair beside her, holding a small plastic cup of ice chips, feeding them to her one by one.
"Why didn't you tell me, Meg?" I whispered, the question having haunted me through forty-eight hours of sleepless pacing. "The very first day she hurt you... why didn't you just shout for me?"
Megan swallowed the ice, her amber eyes filling with a profound, exhausted sorrow. "Because she didn't just hurt me, Jake. She brought the baby into it before she ever even touched my legs."
She reached out, her hand trembling as she touched the small, round curve of her stomach beneath the hospital gown.
"Three weeks ago, when I went down to the store basement to find that extra box of lightbulbs, she followed me down there. She locked the heavy iron door behind us. I thought she was just going to give me another one of her lectures about how I wasn't good enough for you, how a girl from a working-class family in Pilsen didn't deserve the Miller name."
Megan’s voice broke, her breath hitching as the memory took hold. "But she didn't lecture me. She pulled out a small, glass vial from her pocket—the muriatic acid from the plumbing shelf. She told me that she had already spoken to a private family lawyer. She said she had documented every single time I had gone to the clinic for my anxiety before the pregnancy. She told me that if I didn't voluntarily sign a custody waiver naming her as the primary guardian of our child upon its birth, she would use that acid to ensure I never looked at my own face in the mirror again."
I felt the room turn cold, a violent, physical nausea rising in my throat. "She threatened your face?"
"I tried to run past her to the stairs, Jake," Megan wept, the tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "That's when she grabbed my arm and shoved me down the concrete steps. My ankle snapped when I hit the landing. I couldn't move. I was trapped at the bottom of the dark basement, screaming for you, but the floorboards are too thick above the storage units. You couldn't hear me over the sound of the customers and the street traffic."
She clutched my hand, her fingers digging into my skin with a terrifying force. "She poured the acid on my legs while I was lying there, Jake. She did it slowly, deliberately, telling me that every drop was a reminder of what happens to women who try to steal her son away. Then she brought me up to the apartment while you were out delivering a shipment, threatened to kill the baby if I said a word, and told me to stay under the blanket until the child was born."
Before I could wrap my arms around her, before I could scream against the monstrous reality of the woman who had given me birth, the telephone on the hospital bedside table began to ring.
The uniform officer outside the door immediately tapped on the glass, his hand resting on his holster as the phone continued its shrill, rhythmic demand.
May you like
I picked up the receiver with a numb, trembling hand.
"Jacob," the voice on the other end was smooth, clear, and utterly devoid of fear. It was Helen. "I see you’ve chosen the girl over your own blood. A pity. I’m standing inside the nursery at your apartment right now. The yellow paint you chose for the walls is quite tacky. I think it needs a touch of something more permanent. Don't you agree?"
