The Stairwayy Incidentt

“Just do it, please,” he pleaded, his voice pathetic and thin. “Don’t make a scene.”

A scene. I was having a baby with a man who was more terrified of making a scene than protecting his family.

Sick to my stomach, I turned around. Fine. I wasn’t going to raise my blood pressure over this. I started the slow, heavy climb up the hardwood stairs. I just wanted to lock myself in our bedroom and pack a bag. I couldn’t be here anymore. Not with him.

I was halfway up when I heard Eleanor’s voice hiss from the bottom.

“See? She disrespects you. She turns her back on you. She’s a parasite, Mark.”

I stopped on the landing, gripping the wooden banister. I should have kept walking. I should have ignored her. But the hormones and the utter betrayal I was feeling boiled over.

I turned around, standing near the top of the stairs, looking down at them. “You are a miserable, bitter old woman, Eleanor. And you, Mark? You’re a coward.”

Eleanor’s face contorted. The victim act vanished. Her eyes darkened, and before I could blink, she was rushing up the stairs.

“Mom, stop!” Mark yelled, but he didn’t move. He literally stayed rooted to the spot at the bottom of the foyer, watching his mother charge up the stairs like a rabid dog.

I tried to turn and run, but my heavy belly threw off my balance. I stumbled on the carpeted landing.

Eleanor reached the top step. Her hand shot out like lightning.

Her fingers tangled deep into the roots of my hair at the back of my head. She gripped it so hard I felt my scalp tear. I screamed in agony as she yanked my head violently backward.

“You insolent little b⁠*tch!” she screamed, spit flying onto my face.

I lost my footing. I was entirely off-balance, suspended dangerously close to the edge of the second-floor drop. Below me were fourteen steep, hardwood steps. A fall from here wouldn’t just hurt me. It would kill my baby.

“Mark!” I shrieked, tears springing to my eyes as Eleanor pulled my hair harder, dragging my weight backward. “Help me! She’s pushing me!”

I looked down through the wooden slats of the railing. Mark was standing at the bottom. His mouth was slightly open. His eyes were wide. But his hands were at his sides.

He just watched.

He was letting her do it.

Eleanor laughed—a sick, guttural sound—and shifted her weight to yank me down the stairs. I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms tight around my stomach, bracing for the impact of the wood.

But then, the front door violently swung open.

CHAPTER 2

The heavy oak front door hit the wall with a deafening crack.

Harsh afternoon sunlight flooded our dim foyer.

A tall silhouette stood in the doorway. It took my panicked brain a fraction of a second to register the broad shoulders, the familiar faded baseball cap, and the blue scrubs.

It was my older brother, Ryan.

He had promised to drop off some extra baby blankets on his way home from his shift at the hospital. I had completely forgotten.

Ryan stepped over the threshold, a cardboard box in his hands. He looked up, his eyes sweeping the scene.

He saw Mark standing at the bottom of the stairs, doing absolutely nothing.

Then he looked up and saw Eleanor. He saw her fist wrapped tightly in my hair. He saw my body leaning dangerously backward over the steep drop.

The box dropped from his hands. It hit the hardwood floor, spilling tiny, colorful baby blankets everywhere.

“Hey!” Ryan roared.

His voice was like a thunderclap in the house. It wasn’t just a shout. It was a visceral, guttural sound of pure aggression.

Eleanor flinched. Her grip on my hair loosened just a fraction, but it was enough.

Ryan didn’t ask questions. He didn’t hesitate. He bypassed Mark entirely, his heavy work boots slamming against the stairs.

He took the steps three at a time. I had never seen my brother move that fast in his entire life.

Eleanor tried to yank my head one last time, realizing her window was closing. She wanted me to fall. She truly wanted me to go down those stairs.

But Ryan was already there.

He reached the landing and lunged forward. He didn’t hit her, but he shoved his thick forearm hard against Eleanor’s chest.

The force of his momentum knocked her backward. She stumbled away from me, her fingernails painfully dragging across my scalp as she lost her grip on my hair.

“Get your hands off her!” Ryan screamed, standing between me and my mother-in-law.

Eleanor hit the wall of the hallway with a heavy thud. She gasped for air, looking shocked and entirely disoriented.