And then I hear it—the same kind of familiar breathy noise I’d heard earlier.
Only this time it’s real.
She steps into the kitchen doorway. She’s holding Emmett and his little limbs are flailing like he’s just been forced wake from a nap. His face is screwed up like he’s seconds away from erupting into a cry.
The moment I see Emmett in her arms, everything inside me stills.
The impulse for revenge, the wild pounding of my heartbeat, the rage that fueled every move I’ve made, I feel it all drain away as terror takes its place.
Because Chelsea isn’t just holding him. She’s cradling him against her chest with one arm like he’s precious. But in her other hand, gripped loosely but unmistakably, is a kitchen knife.
My throat goes dry. I can barely breathe let alone think. I raise a hand instinctively, not in surrender, but in that slow, careful gesture you make around wild animals.
“Chelsea,” I say cautiously. “Give me back my son, please. This doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to do this. Just give him back to me, and I’ll… I’ll let you go. No police. No more fighting. You can walk out that door. You can leave.”
For a second, the silence is so heavy I can hear Emmett’s tiny, uncertain breaths.
They’re interrupted by Chelsea’s gleeful laughter. Her smile widens, failing to reach her eyes. Those blue eyes are hollow, glassy, locked onto me like she’s seeing something entirely different.
“Why would I ever do that, my dear?” she asks, her voice syrupy and mocking. “I’m already home. This is my family, you see. This sweet boy, he’s mine. We just have a few loose ends to tie up, and then we’ll be happy together.”
She lifts the knife, and Emmett starts to cry again. I take a slow step forward, barely keeping my composure.
“Please,” I whisper, blinking against tears. “He’s just a baby. He doesn’t understand. Please, Chelsea. Please don’t hurt him. Give him to me. Let me hold him. He needs me.”
Chelsea tilts her head, considering this. And then, as if granting me a gift, she sighs. “Give him to you? Is that what you really want? Well... alright then.”
She holds him out, arm extending like she’s handing over a wrapped present. I move forward, heart crashing against my ribs, every instinct guarded. But I can’t afford hesitation, not when Emmett’s eyes find mine, red-rimmed and wet, not when I see the way his little body stiffens and squirms.
The moment he’s back in my arms, he melts into me with a whimper, tucking his face against my neck like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. I clutch him tightly, my hand cradling the back of his head, whispering that it’s okay, that I’ve got him now.
Everything’s going to be fine.
But I don’t even get to finish the thought before Chelsea lunges.
Her grin widens as she drives the knife forward, the motion fast and practiced. I twist, turning my body as much as I can, shielding Emmett with everything I have. The blade slams into my side—just beneath my ribs—slicing deep, stealing the breath from my lungs with a cry that tears out of me before I can stop it. Pain blooms like wildfire, white-hot and paralyzing, but I don’t let go of my son.
Ican’t.
Because if I give in now, I don’t know what she’ll do next.
Chelsea’s hand slams into my chest and shoves me backward with a force that knocks the air out of me, but it’s the searing pain in my side that almost brings me to my knees. The wound flares, deep and unforgiving, and for a second, I can’t doanything but hold onto Emmett with every last shred of strength I have left.
“Look at you,” she sneers. “Already about to crumble.”
I stumble hard into the wall, barely catching myself with one shoulder. My body’s shaking, soaked in sweat, and I can feel the slick wetness of blood soaking through my blouse. Emmett starts to cry again, the sound driving up my panic.
“I always knew you were fragile, sweetheart,” Chelsea continues. “You’ve never deserved this family. You got lucky, that’s all. You were a placeholder. Something to move out of the way.”
She shoves me again, harder this time, and I let out a cry of pain that cracks in my throat. The world blurs and tilts. I try to stay upright, but everything hurts so much it feels like the floor is pulling me down with it, and then she wrenches Emmett from my arms.
“No… no, please…” I gasp, reaching out blindly, but it’s too late. She has him.
“And the knife,” she purrs, snatching it from my limp fingers as easily as stealing candy from a child.
I sink to the floor, unable to fight gravity another second. My legs fold beneath me, the intense pain twinging in my side.
Chelsea clutches Emmett to her chest, pacing with an eerie lightness in her step as she coos at him. He squirms in her hold, but she doesn’t seem to care. Her voice drips with venom as she turns back to me.
