Chapter 2 - The House I Thought I Was Saving
At St. Francis, they put me on oxygen, checked the baby twice, and confirmed that nothing had ruptured, though my ribs were badly bruised and one wrist had nerve damage from the way the rope had cut in.
Noah sat in a children’s interview room down the hall with a therapist and a sheriff’s deputy trained to work with kids. He would not let anyone shut the door all the way.
Ben stood outside my room with coffee going cold in his hand.
He was a detective with Indianapolis Metro, but he was not working my case. A Johnson County domestic-violence unit had been building it with him feeding them what I consented to share.
“The warrant was already signed,” he told me quietly. “Monroe’s team was staged nearby. When the watch alerts spiked, they forced entry.”
“I thought you were waiting until morning.”
Ben looked at the bruises blooming along my side and exhaled through his nose. “So did I.”
The pressure beneath his answer made me turn my head toward him.
“He was ready,” I said. “Before he ever touched me, he was ready. The rope, the hook, the poker. He knew I was leaving.”
Ben did not interrupt.
“I only told one person besides you,” I said.
It took him half a second.
“Mom?”
I closed my eyes.
Earlier that afternoon, I had called Diane from the Target parking lot while Noah ate goldfish crackers in the back seat. I told her I was coming to Ben’s house with Noah the next morning. I told her I was done covering for Cole. I even told her Ben had given me a safety watch and said if Cole put his hands on me again, I needed to stay conscious and keep moving.
Diane cried and asked me to wait one more day. She said she could talk Cole down. She said no marriage survived if you let brothers turn everything into a police matter.
I had told her no.
Now, in the hospital bed, I remembered something else.
“He checked my wrists,” I whispered.
Ben frowned.
“When he grabbed me. Before he tied me up. He looked at both wrists first.”
Ben straightened slightly. “You think she told him about the watch.”
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I looked through the glass toward the room where Noah was curled into a vinyl chair with his knees to his chest.
“I think she told him I was leaving,” I said. “And I think he decided to stop me.”
