Chapter 7 Kneeling before monsters

Amelia's POV

The faint morning light seeped through the hospital room curtains, but it brought no comfort. My body ached, and my heart thudded with a constant rhythm of fear. The events of last night played on repeat in my mind-the blows, the darkness, the words of the doctor echoing in my ears: You're pregnant.

Every thought led to Richard. If he found out, he would kill me. No, he wouldn't stop there. He would destroy me-and the baby. My hand instinctively moved to my abdomen, as if to shield the tiny life inside.

I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn't.

But how would I escape? My options felt like a cruel joke. No money, no job, no friends.

A soft knock broke my thoughts. Before I could respond, Margaret stepped in.

My mother's face, etched with lines of worry, momentarily softened when she saw me sitting up. For a brief second, I thought maybe-just maybe-she had come to rescue me and free me from this torture after seeing the state I was in.

But that hope crumbled as she approached, her expression shifting.

"You've been lying here all night?" she said sharply, her voice cutting through the room. "What on earth are you doing, Amelia? You should be home with your husband."

Her words hit like a punch. I stared at her, stunned, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Mummy..." My voice cracked. "He hit me. He..." My voice faltered as the memories flooded back. "He beat me until I passed out."

Margaret's eyes darkened, but not with the empathy I desperately needed. Instead, a chilling indifference replaced any sign of maternal concern.

"What did you do to make him hit you?" she snapped.

I flinched as if she had struck me herself.

"You must have offended him, Amelia. No man raises his hand without a reason. Instead of sitting here sulking, you should be home apologizing before someone else takes your place."

The air seemed to leave my lungs. I had known my mother to be cold and calculating, but this? This felt like betrayal on a level I hadn't thought possible.

"Mummy..." I whispered, my tears now streaming freely. "How can you say that? Did my father ever hit you?"

The question caught her off guard. Her lips parted, her eyes darting momentarily. "No," she admitted, her voice tight, "but not all men are the same. Some require a little more patience. You need to bear it, Amelia."

Her words crushed me. "Bear it?" I echoed, disbelief and despair clawing at me.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Marriage is not a fairy tale. You do what you must to keep your husband happy. Go home, apologize, and stop this nonsense."

I shook my head, unable to stop the tears. She didn't care. About me. About the baby. About the hell I was enduring.

I was alone.

Margaret ignored my silence and yanked the sheets off me. "Get up. You've embarrassed yourself enough. We're going home."

Home. The word felt like a death sentence.

She helped me into my coat, her grip firm and unrelenting. Every step toward the house felt heavier, as though I were walking toward my execution. My stomach churned with nausea-not just from my injuries but from the dread of what awaited me.

When we arrived, the door creaked open, and there he was-Richard. That monster. Sitting in the living room, drink in hand, his feet propped up as if nothing had happened. The man who had nearly beaten me to death looked up at me with a smirk, his eyes as cold as ever.

Margaret gave me a sharp nudge forward. "Go," she hissed under her breath.

I froze, paralyzed by fear and anger.

"Apologize," she demanded, her nails digging into my arm.

I swallowed hard, my dignity slipping further with every second. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely audible.

Margaret, dissatisfied, pushed me harder. "Not like that! Show him you mean it. Kneel."

I turned to her, horrified. "No, I-"

Before I could protest further, she grabbed my shoulder and forced me down. The pain from my injuries flared, and I bit back a cry as I knelt before the man who had tried to destroy me.

Richard took a long sip of his drink, then set it down with deliberate ease. He leaned back, his lips curling into a sneer as he watched me beg like he was enjoying the scene.

"You're pathetic," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Without me, you'd be nothing. You think anyone else would put up with you?"

Each word felt like a blade carving into my soul.

"Richard," Margaret interjected, her tone almost pleading. "She's learned her lesson. She's sorry. Please, forgive her."

Forgive me? For what? Surviving? I thought.

My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. Anger and shame boiled inside me, warring with the desperation to protect the secret growing within me.

Finally, Richard sighed and waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. But don't think I'll forget this, Amelia. You're lucky I'm even letting you stay."

Lucky.

Margaret beamed, her relief palpable. "See?" she said, turning to me. "All is well now."

Then she continued, "Richard is a good man. Just behave yourself and do whatever you want and you will be fine".

"A good man?"

I wanted to scream. To lash out at both of them. But I stayed silent, my head bowed, my mind racing.

As Margaret left, satisfied with her work, Richard rose from his chair and loomed over me. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

"You'll regret making me look bad," he hissed, his grip bruising. "Remember that."

He released me with a shove, and I fell backward, my hands instinctively protecting my stomach. He didn't notice-or care.

Once he disappeared upstairs, I sat on the floor, my body shaking, tears streaming down my face.

I had no one. Not my mother. Not Richard.

But I had the baby.

And I would do anything to protect it.

That night, as the house fell into silence, I lay awake, my hand resting over my abdomen. I had to leave. Somehow, someway, I had to escape.

The sound of footsteps outside my room startled me. I held my breath, expecting Richard. But the steps continued down the hall and out the front door.

Curiosity and fear mingled as I crept to the window.

In the dim light, I saw Margaret and Richard talking in hushed tones. Her face was stern, her gestures animated. She handed him something-money? Or a brown envelope?-before walking away into the night.

What was she up to? What did she give to him

My stomach twisted as a terrifying thought crossed my mind: What if she knew about the baby?

The weight of her betrayal settled heavily in my chest. I had to act fast. Whatever she was planning, whatever Richard was capable of, I couldn't wait to find out.

As I slipped back into bed, one thing became clear. My time in this house was running out. And I wasn't leaving alone.

The battle for my freedom had only just begun.