Chapter 3 - The Story They Had PreparedThe paramedics reached me before Andrew could invent a believable story.
By the time I reached the window, sweat soaked the collar of my T-shirt even though the December air outside had turned the glass icy.
I rested my forehead against the wall.
Don’t pass out.
That became my only rule.
Stay awake.
Stay quiet.
Keep moving.
The screwdriver trembled in my hand.
The window latch had been painted over at least twice. Andrew’s parents had owned the old colonial outside Hartford for thirty years, and nothing in the guest room had been updated since sometime around 2005.
Usually, that irritated Margaret.
That night, it saved me.
The screws were already loose.
I twisted the first one.
Metal scraped.
I froze.
Footsteps?
Nothing.
Only the furnace humming.
I twisted again.
The screw moved barely a quarter turn.
My wrist shook.
My injured leg throbbed with every heartbeat.
Somewhere upstairs, a door opened.
I stopped breathing.
Andrew walked down the hallway.
His footsteps approached.
Closer.
Closer.
They stopped outside my room.
The doorknob turned.
Locked from his side.
I shoved the screwdriver beneath the bedskirt and dragged myself backward just as the door opened.
Andrew stepped inside.
He held my phone.
“What are you doing on the floor?”
“I tried to get water.”
He looked at the untouched glass beside the bed.
Then at me.
Suspicion narrowed his eyes.
“You need to stay in bed.”
“I need a hospital.”
“We’ve been over this.”
“No. You talked. I begged.”
His face hardened.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Worried somebody will hear me?”
He glanced toward the hallway.
That was all the answer I needed.
I had spent years explaining Andrew’s behavior to myself.
He was stressed.
His mother was difficult.
His father was sick.
Work was demanding.
Marriage required compromise.
But terror has a strange ability to make the truth simple.
My husband was afraid of consequences.
Not of hurting me.
Andrew crouched beside me.
“Tomorrow, we’ll take you to a private orthopedic clinic.”
“And tell them what?”
“That you slipped.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t understand the position you’re putting me in.”
I almost laughed.
My leg was broken, and somehow this was happening to him.
“Your mother assaulted me.”
“She lost her temper.”
“She broke my leg.”
“It was an accident.”
“She hit me three times.”
His eyes flickered.
“You were provoking her.”
There it was.
The last excuse.
The final door closing.
Whatever remained of my marriage died on that floor.
I stared at him and made myself nod.
“Okay.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“You’re right.”
Suspicion remained in his face.
I swallowed.
“I’m exhausted. I’m hurting. I don’t want to fight anymore.”
Andrew watched me carefully.
I had spent four years learning exactly what he wanted from me.
Agreement.
Softness.
Surrender.
I gave him all three.
“I’ll tell them I fell.”
His shoulders relaxed.
“You will?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“Thank you.”
Thank you.
He actually thanked me.
Then he helped me back onto the bed.
Every movement sent fire through my leg, but I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood rather than scream.
Andrew pulled the blanket over me.
“I knew you’d calm down.”
He kissed my forehead.
The gesture almost made me vomit.
“Get some sleep.”
He locked the door again.
I counted to three hundred after his footsteps disappeared.
Then I returned to the window.
The first screw came loose at 12:41.
The second at 12:56.
I caught the latch before it fell.
Cold air rushed over my face when I pushed the window upward.
Freedom was less than four feet away.
There was one problem.
The guest-room window sat almost six feet above the frozen backyard.
I couldn’t jump.
Not with my leg.
I looked around.
Curtains.
Bedsheet.
Blanket.
An idea formed.
I tied the sheet to the bedframe, knotted the curtain to it, then lowered the makeshift rope through the window.
It wouldn’t hold my full weight.
It didn’t need to.
I only needed enough support to lower myself without landing on the broken leg.
At 1:12, I climbed onto the sill.
Snowflakes floated through the darkness.
The backyard looked enormous.
Our nearest neighbor lived across a strip of woods almost two hundred yards away.
The road was farther.
My fingers tightened around the sheet.
For a second, fear whispered that staying might be safer.
Then I remembered Andrew saying, She needs to learn to obey.
I lowered myself.
The sheet tore halfway down.
I fell.
My shoulder hit frozen earth first.
Pain exploded through my leg.
The world vanished.
When I opened my eyes again, snow had gathered in my hair.
I didn’t know how long I had been unconscious.
The window above me remained dark.
Move.
I rolled onto my stomach.
The detached metal brace around the back patio became my crutch.
I dragged myself toward the fence.
Twenty feet.
Thirty.
My injured leg left a shallow trail through the snow.
I reached the gate.
Locked.
Of course.
Margaret locked everything.
I almost laughed.
Instead, I crawled toward the narrow gap beneath the old wooden fence where Andrew’s childhood dog used to dig.
It was barely wide enough.
I turned sideways.
Pulled.
My broken leg caught.
A scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.
A light went on upstairs.
No.
I shoved harder.
Wood scraped my shoulder.
My pajama pants tore.
Then I was through.
Behind me, Andrew shouted my name.
“Claire!”
I crawled toward the trees.
The back door slammed.
“CLAIRE!”
Flashlight beams jumped across the snow.
I reached the first line of trees just as Margaret appeared behind him wearing her bathrobe.
“She couldn’t have gotten far!”
I pressed my fist against my mouth.
Andrew headed toward the gate.
I pulled myself deeper into the woods.
Branches cut my palms.
Frozen leaves caught beneath my elbows.
Every movement hurt.
But pain meant I was still moving.
Then headlights appeared through the trees.
A car.
The county road.
I dragged myself toward it.
The headlights passed.
Gone.
“Claire!”
Andrew was in the woods now.
Maybe sixty yards behind me.
I found a fallen branch and used it to lever myself upright.
One step.
The world spun.
Another.
My left leg couldn’t bear weight, so I hopped and dragged.
I reached the roadside ditch.
Another vehicle approached.
This time, I crawled directly into the road.
The driver slammed the brakes.
A horn screamed.
The pickup stopped maybe ten feet from me.
A man jumped out.
“Jesus Christ!”
He ran toward me.
I grabbed his jacket.
“Please.”
He looked at my leg.
“What happened?”
Flashlights appeared among the trees.
Andrew shouted, “She fell! She’s confused!”
I clutched the stranger harder.
“No.”
My voice broke.
“He broke—”
I stopped.
Not accurate.
“His mother broke my leg. They locked me inside.”
The stranger’s face changed instantly.
He stepped between me and the woods.
Andrew emerged onto the shoulder.
“Claire, honey, come back inside.”
The stranger lifted one hand.
“Stay right there.”
Andrew stopped.
“This is my wife.”
“And she said stay away.”
“I didn’t say that.”
I looked at the stranger.
“I’m saying it now.”
The man pulled out his phone.
“I’m calling 911.”
Andrew’s face drained.
Behind him, Margaret appeared at the edge of the trees.
For the first time all night, she looked frightened.
May you like
And watching fear replace the arrogance on her face gave me enough strength to whisper the words that would change my life.
“Tell them to send the police too.”
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