Chapter 2 - The Object in the Purse
The police officer standing in the doorway of my hospital room looked too young to be dealing with ruined marriages. His name tag read Officer Hayes. He held a familiar black leather object in his hands.
My purse.
"Your father retrieved this from the front porch of your residence," Officer Hayes said, his voice quiet, respectful of the beeping fetal monitor strapped to my swollen belly. "Apparently, your husband threw it at the front door before he realized his key no longer worked."
Megan, sitting in the vinyl chair beside my bed, let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Eric always throws a tantrum when he loses control."
Officer Hayes stepped closer, setting the purse gently on the rolling tray table. "Mrs. Davis, I need to ask you some questions. The witness, Dana, was very specific about what she saw on that pavement. She described a physical altercation."
I looked at the black leather bag. Just hours ago, I had been begging Eric to roll down the window so I could get it. Now, it felt like a relic from a past life. I touched the forming bruise on my forearm. The skin was mottled purple and yellow, tender to the bone.
"He grabbed me," I said, my voice shaking. I forced myself to look the officer in the eye. "I was having contractions. I begged him to take me to the hospital. He told me I was faking it. Then he dragged me out of the car and left me on the side of the road."
Writing it down in his small notebook, Officer Hayes didn’t show a flicker of judgment. "Did he threaten you, Claire?"
"Not with his words," I whispered. "But the way he looked at me… he looked at me like I was a problem he finally figured out how to solve."
The baby kicked, a hard, frantic thump against my ribs. I placed my hand over my stomach, breathing through a residual wave of cramping. The doctors had managed to stabilize my cervix with medication, but they warned me the stress was toxic.
"We are issuing an emergency protective order," Hayes said firmly. "Given the physical evidence and the independent witness, a judge will sign it tonight. He cannot come within five hundred feet of you, your hospital room, or your residence."
"It's my father's residence now," Megan corrected sharply. "Dad owns the deed. Eric just lived there."
After the officer left, Megan brought the tray table closer to me. "Check your things. Make sure that coward didn't steal your credit cards before he dumped it."
My hands trembled as I unzipped the main compartment. My wallet was there. My phone, with a cracked screen, was wedged in the side pocket. But as I pulled the wallet out, something heavy and cold tumbled onto the white hospital blanket.
It wasn't mine.
It was a heavy, antique silver pocket watch. The metal was tarnished, the glass face scratched. I stared at it, a cold dread pooling in my chest.
"Megan," I breathed, picking it up. "This isn't mine."
She leaned in, her brow furrowed. "Is it Eric's?"
"No. Eric only wears modern smartwatches. He hates antiques." I turned it over. The back was engraved with a set of initials: J.T.W. and a date from thirty years ago.
I pressed the small latch at the top. The watch popped open. Inside, tucked behind the hands, was a tiny, perfectly folded piece of blue paper. I carefully extracted it with my fingernails and unfolded it.
It was a pawn shop receipt. Issued yesterday.
The item pawned was a diamond tennis bracelet. My diamond tennis bracelet, the one my grandmother had left me when she passed away.
But the name on the receipt wasn’t Eric Davis.
The signature at the bottom read: Julian Vance.
I looked up at my sister, the air leaving my lungs. "Megan… who is Julian Vance?"
May you like
Before she could answer, my cracked phone lit up on the tray table. A text message from Eric.
Tell your father to unlock the door, Claire. You have something in your purse that belongs to my business partner. If I don't get it back tonight, they're going to come looking for you, not me.
