David came running in, saw the blood, and frowned.
“God, Anna, you always make a mess. Get up and clean this; don’t let the guests see.”
“I’m losing the baby… Call 911!” I begged.
“No!”
David snatched my phone and smashed it against the wall.
“No ambulance. The neighbors will talk. I just made partner; I don’t need police in my house.”
He crouched down, grabbed me by the hair, and yanked my head back.
“Listen carefully. I’m a lawyer. I play golf with the Sheriff. If you say one word, I’ll have you committed to a psychiatric ward. You’re an orphan; who do you think is going to believe you?”
The pain turned into a hell of rage. I stared straight into his eyes.
“You’re right, David. You know the law. But you don’t know who wrote it.”
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