THE HEIRLOOM

I didn’t move.

My hand tightened around the heavy silver pocket watch. The lockbox sat open on the floor between my knees.

Diane stared at the box. Her eyes widened, a flash of pure, unadulterated greed wiping away her usual composed mask. She tightened her grip on the crowbar and took a slow step into the living room.

"Your father was a thief," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "He stole that from my family thirty years ago."

"My father never stole anything in his life," I shot back, staying on my knees.

I had to protect my stomach. I subtly shifted my weight, calculating the distance between us. If she swung that crowbar, I had to block it with my cast, not my torso.

"You don't know anything about him," Diane sneered. "He was my father's accountant. When Arthur’s business went under, the money vanished. We lost everything. But your father? He bought this house. He lived comfortably. He hid the assets."

"You want the house to tear it down," I realized aloud. "You think there’s cash in the walls."

"I know there is," she stepped closer. "And that watch is the key to proving he embezzled it. Give it to me, Sarah."

"No."

"What’s going on down here?"

Julian’s voice broke the tension. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his eyes, wearing gray sweatpants. When he saw his mother holding a crowbar, he froze.

"Mom, what are you doing?"

"She found it, Julian," Diane said, not taking her eyes off me. "The box."

Julian’s posture shifted. The sleepy husband vanished, replaced by the desperate, drowning man I had seen in the kitchen days ago. He looked at the silver watch in my hand.

"Sarah," Julian said, his voice laced with a terrifying calmness. "Hand it to me. We need it. I owe people a lot of money. They’re going to hurt me if I don’t pay them by Friday."

"You pushed me into a boiling pot for debt?" My voice broke.

"I didn't want to!" he yelled, stepping forward. "You wouldn't sign! If we sell the house, I can pay them back! Mom said the real money is hidden here, but we need ownership to gut the place!"

I looked between my husband and his mother. They were completely united in their madness.

"Give me the watch, Sarah," Julian demanded, reaching out his hand.

I looked down at the silver timepiece. My thumb traced the smooth edge.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing pain ripped through my lower abdomen.

It was so intense it stole my breath. I gasped, dropping the letters, my free hand instinctively clutching my swollen belly.

"Stop faking," Diane snapped.

But it wasn't a fake. A warm rush of fluid soaked through my pajama pants, pooling onto the hardwood floor right next to the open compartment.

My water just broke.

I looked up at Julian, terror seizing my chest. I was four weeks early.

"Julian," I gasped, the pain cresting into a blinding wave. "The baby."