Chapter 1

The first thing I saw was blood.

It was dark red, pooling on the white kitchen tiles, and my father-in-law, Mr. Scott, was lying in the middle of it. His eyes were closed, and a deep gash split his forehead open.

My breath caught in my throat.

The smell of iron hit me, and my vision started to swim. My hemophobia, a lifelong curse, made my legs feel like they were about to give out.

Then another image flashed in my mind, just as vivid, just as bloody.

It was me on the floor, not him. My husband, Andrew, stood over me, his face twisted in rage, a baseball bat in his hands. The memory, or premonition, or whatever it was, was a constant echo in my head, a promise of my own end.

This time, I wouldn't be helpless.

My hand trembled as I pulled out my phone. I scrolled past Andrew' s name. I scrolled past 911. My finger stopped on Ethan Lester, Andrew' s cousin. A paramedic. Reliable. Kind.

I pressed the call button, took a deep, shaky breath, and forced a sob.

"Ethan? Is that... is that you? I tried to call Andrew... I think I misdialed..."

"Gabrielle? What' s wrong? You sound terrified."

"It' s Mr. Scott," I cried, making my voice crack. "He fell. There' s so much blood, Ethan. I don' t know what to do. Andrew isn' t answering his phone."

"Stay on the line, Gabrielle. I' m five minutes away. Don' t hang up. I' m coming."

He was true to his word. Five minutes later, Ethan burst through the door, his paramedic kit in hand. He took one look at the scene and immediately went to work on his uncle, his movements professional and urgent. He didn't even question why I hadn't called 911 directly. He just saw me, pale and shaking against the wall, and assumed I was in shock.

At the hospital, the chaos was a blur of fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic. A nurse with a tired face and a clipboard approached us.

"He needs emergency surgery to relieve the pressure on his brain. We need a signature from a direct relative."

I looked at Ethan, my eyes wide with manufactured panic. "I have to call Andrew."

I made sure to press the speakerphone button before dialing. Ethan stood right beside me, his expression grim. The phone rang once, twice, three times.

Finally, Andrew picked up. His voice was slurred, annoyed. "What the hell do you want, Gabrielle?"

A woman' s giggle sounded in the background. Sabrina.

"Andrew, it' s your father," I said, my voice trembling just enough. "He' s at the hospital. He fell, he' s bleeding, he needs emergency surgery right now."

There was a pause. "Are you fucking kidding me? You' re making up stories about my dad to get me to come home? How pathetic can you get?"

"Andrew, please, this is serious..."

"Save it," he snapped. "I' m busy. Deal with it yourself. And stop calling me."

The line went dead.

The nurse stared at the phone, her mouth open. Ethan' s face was a mask of disbelief and fury.

I tried calling back. It went straight to voicemail. I tried again. Voicemail. The third time, a new message played.

"The number you have dialed has been blocked."

I let out a small, broken sound, a perfect performance of a shattered wife. The nurse' s expression softened from shock to pity. Ethan just clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tight.