The officer asked Ethan into the hallway. Margaret’s protests faded beneath the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor—my daughter’s life continuing despite the storm.
I leaned against the hospital pillows, hand on my belly. The road ahead would be long, filled with legal battles and rebuilding. But as my father sat back down, taking my hand, I felt the silence lift. I was no longer a fragile, porcelain wife. I was a mother, a daughter, and for the first time in years, I was free. The crack of dry wood had ended my marriage, but the steady gallop of my daughter’s heartbeat marked the beginning of everything else.
