For the first time, Emily looked shocked. Some part of her still expected me to compromise. To protect my mother’s image while quietly treating my wife’s wounds.
That man was gone.
By midnight, we were home with medical notes, ointments, discharge instructions, and a folder of trauma resources.
Lauren was waiting at the kitchen island, staring into a cold cup of tea.
“How is she?” she asked.
“The baby survived the stress,” I said coldly.
Lauren collapsed into tears.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “At first I thought Mom was just being controlling. Then I told myself Karen was strict but temporary. Every time I wanted to stop it, Mom said I was making it worse. She said Emily needed to stop acting like a child before the baby came.” Her voice broke. “I knew it was wrong. I just kept freezing.”
I looked at my sister.
“Freezing is how cruelty survives.”
She nodded, offering no excuse.
“What happens tomorrow?” she asked.
I looked out the dark kitchen window.
“Tomorrow, I make sure no one ever does this to her again.”
The next week burned my old life to the ground.