“STOP!”

Emily’s voice tore through the house.

Her hand shot toward the polished wooden railing, fingers scraping desperately against it as she lost her balance.

Behind her stood Daniel’s older sister, Lauren.

Both of Lauren’s hands were still extended.

For one impossible second, nobody moved.

Then gravity took over.

Emily struck the first step with her hip.

Pain exploded through her side.

She rolled downward, catching the railing with her right hand while instinctively wrapping her left arm around her stomach.

“Emily!”

Daniel exploded from the bedroom doorway.

He had been changing his shirt before dinner when he heard the argument in the hall. He expected raised voices. Lauren had been furious all afternoon, and Emily had spent the last hour trying to avoid another confrontation.

Daniel had never expected to see his pregnant wife falling down the staircase.

Emily crashed against another step.

Her shoulder slammed into the wood.

Her breath vanished.

Somewhere inside her belly, their unborn daughter moved violently.

That movement terrified her more than the fall.

Daniel reached the stairs just as Emily came to a stop several steps below the landing.

She curled protectively around her stomach, gasping for air.

Daniel stared at her.

Then he looked up.

Lauren stood frozen above them.

“What did you do?”

His voice was low at first.

Lauren shook her head.

“She slipped.”

Daniel’s expression changed.

He had known his sister for thirty-four years.

He knew every expression she used when she was embarrassed, frightened, angry, or lying.

And right now, Lauren was lying.

“I saw you.”

Daniel climbed two steps toward her.

Lauren backed up.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“You pushed my wife.”

“Daniel, listen—”

“You pushed my pregnant wife down the stairs!”

The sound of his voice echoed through the enormous house.

Lauren’s face hardened.

“She came at me.”

Emily lifted her head weakly.

“I never touched you.”

Lauren glanced down at her.

“You were threatening me.”

“I asked you to leave us alone.”

“You told me I wasn’t welcome here.”

“Because you were screaming at me.”

Lauren opened her mouth again, but Daniel reached the landing.

His entire body shook.

For years, Daniel Whitmore had been the calm one.

He was the person who kept family arguments from exploding.

He had paid Lauren’s rent when her marriage ended.

He had given his mother money when she wanted renovations.

He had ignored countless insults directed at Emily because he believed peace was more important than confrontation.

But peace had nearly killed his wife.

His hand moved before he fully considered it.

The slap cracked across Lauren’s face.

Her head snapped sideways.

She stumbled into the railing.

Silence swallowed the hallway.

Lauren slowly lifted one hand to her cheek.

Daniel pointed toward Emily.

“You pushed my wife.”

Lauren stared at him in disbelief.

“You hit me.”

“You pushed a pregnant woman down the stairs.”

“You hit your own sister!”

“I should have stopped you months ago.”

A new voice thundered from the living room.

“Daniel!”

Margaret Whitmore appeared beneath the archway.

She wore the burgundy dress she had chosen for the family dinner, pearls resting perfectly against her throat.

Her expression was not focused on Emily.

It was focused entirely on Lauren.

Specifically, the red mark across Lauren’s cheek.

“What have you done?”

Daniel stared at his mother.

“Mom, Emily fell.”

“I can see that.”

“Lauren pushed her.”

Margaret barely looked toward the staircase.

Instead, she rushed toward her daughter.

“You struck your sister?”

Daniel’s mouth fell open.

“Did you hear me?”

Margaret stopped in front of him.

“I heard enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You hit your sister.”

“She pushed Emily.”

Lauren began crying.

The tears arrived almost instantly.

“Mom, he attacked me.”

Daniel looked at her with disgust.

Margaret turned on him.

“You do not put your hands on your sister.”

“Then maybe she shouldn’t put her hands on my wife.”

Margaret slapped him.

Hard.

Daniel’s face jerked sideways.

Emily gasped from the steps.

“Daniel…”

He slowly looked back at his mother.

Margaret’s chest rose and fell.

“Don’t you ever touch your sister again.”

Something inside Daniel finally broke.

Not because of the slap.

Because his mother still had not asked whether Emily was alive.

“Move.”

Margaret grabbed his shirt.

“You’re going to apologize.”

“My wife needs a hospital.”

“You are going to apologize to your sister.”

“Let go.”

“Daniel—”

“Let go of me.”

Margaret raised her hand again.

Daniel tore her fingers from his shirt.

When she lunged forward, he pushed her away.

He meant to create distance.

But Margaret was already off balance.

She stumbled backward.

Her shoulders struck the tall bookshelf behind her.

The entire structure shook.

A framed photograph fell first.

Then three books.

Then a ceramic bowl.