Chapter 7 - THE CONFRONTATION
“Hide,” Mason whispered to Brooke and Eleanor. “Get in the supply closet.”
“Mason, no,” Eleanor pleaded.
“Do it!” he commanded.
Brooke pulled her mother into the adjacent closet, shutting the door silently. The doctor and nurses backed away from the entrance, holding surgical instruments like makeshift weapons.
Mason picked up a heavy oxygen tank wrench from the wall. He stepped into the shadows near the door.
Footsteps echoed in the dark hallway outside our suite. Slow. Deliberate.
I squeezed my eyes shut, praying through another monstrous contraction. I couldn't make a sound. If I screamed in pain, I would lead him right to me.
The door handle to the surgical suite slowly turned.
It was locked from the inside.
A heavy kick slammed into the wood. The frame splintered.
Another kick, and the door flew open.
A flashlight beam pierced the darkness, sweeping across the room. It illuminated the medical equipment, the terrified nurses, and finally, me on the operating table.
Behind the flashlight, Richard stepped into the room. He held a steel crowbar in his right hand.
“Well, Emily,” Richard said, his voice dripping with venom. “You just couldn't quietly miscarry, could you? You had to make it a whole production.”
He stepped forward.
Before he could take a second step, Mason lunged from the shadows.
The wrench cracked hard against Richard’s wrist. The flashlight dropped, spinning wildly on the floor, casting dizzying shadows on the ceiling.
Richard howled in pain, dropping the crowbar.
Mason didn't stop. He drove his shoulder into Richard’s chest, slamming him against the metal cabinets. Glass shattered.
“You touched my wife!” Mason roared, throwing a devastating punch across Richard’s jaw.
Richard crumpled to the floor, coughing blood.
Mason grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back up. “You went near my daughter's school!”
“It was just insurance!” Richard laughed, bloody saliva hitting Mason’s shirt. “You rich idiots. You have no idea how easy it was to take from you.”
Suddenly, the backup generators hummed to life. The overhead lights snapped on, blinding us all.
Brooke stepped out of the supply closet. She looked at her bloody, beaten husband on the floor.
She walked over to the dropped crowbar, picked it up, and looked Richard dead in the eye.
May you like
“I want a divorce,” she said.
Then, she swung the crowbar directly into Richard’s knee.
