Chapter 4 - The Shattered Glass
The heavy iron gates of the Avery Hills estate were closed. I didn't bother using the remote sender on my visor to wait for the slow mechanical arms to swing open.
I smashed my heavy sedan straight through the center of the wrought-iron gates.
Metal shrieked against metal, glass shattered from my headlights, and the iron bars buckled violently as my car plowed through the entry drive, spinning out across the wet, manicured lawn before slamming to a halt right on the front brick walkway.
I threw my door open, ignoring the pouring rain, and charged up the grand stone steps.
I slammed my shoulder into the massive double front doors, unlocking them with my master key, and stepped into the cavernous, quiet foyer. The smell of fresh lilies and expensive perfume filled the air, mocking me.
I sprinted up the sweeping marble staircase, taking three steps at a time, my wet dress shoes squeaking loudly against the stone.
When I reached the third-floor landing, Dr. Harrison was standing outside the nursery door, holding the cap of the syringe between his teeth, preparing to step back inside.
Seeing me drenched in sweat, rain, and blood from a small cut on my forehead, Harrison froze, his eyes widening in complete shock.
"Arthur?!" he stammered, dropping the syringe cap from his mouth. "What... what are you doing home? You weren't supposed to return until late afternoon—"
Before he could finish his sentence, I closed the distance between us, grabbed him by the front of his tailored suit coat, and slammed him savagely back against the hallway wall. The framed oil paintings along the corridor rattled from the impact.
"If you ever put a needle near my wife again, I will murder you with my bare hands!" I snarled, my face inches from his.
"Arthur, calm down! You don't understand!" Harrison gasped, turning pale, his hands clawing at my wrists. "She's sick! She's mentally unstable! Your mother hired me to—"
"I saw the video, Harrison," I growled, my voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. "I saw every single second on the nursery camera."
Harrison's eyes filled with absolute, overwhelming terror. He knew his medical license, his career, and his freedom were vanished in that single moment.
I shoved him down the hallway so hard he lost his footing and crashed onto the carpet.
I pushed the heavy oak door to the nursery open.
Clara was huddled in the corner beside the crib, her knees pulled tight against her chest, her face buried in her hands, her body shaking with terrified sobs. She looked up, her bloodshot eyes wide with panic, expecting another attack.
"Arthur...?" she gasped out, her voice barely a whisper. "Please... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to make him cry..."
The sight of my brilliant, beautiful wife broken into a terrifying shell of herself tore my heart into pieces. I dropped to my knees on the floor, ignoring the dampness of my clothes, and wrapped my arms tightly around her trembling frame.
"I'm sorry, Clara," I wept, pulling her close against my chest, burying my face in her neck. "I'm so sorry... I saw it. I saw everything. You don't have to apologize ever again."
Clara stiffened in absolute shock, her body frozen in my arms. "You... you saw?"
"I put a camera in the owl," I whispered, holding her tighter. "I saw what she did to you. I saw her lay her hands on you. It's over, Clara. I swear on my life, no one is ever going to hurt you again."
She let out a long, shuddering gasp, and then, for the first time in six months, she collapsed into my arms, weeping tears of profound, overwhelming relief.
From the doorway behind us, a cold, sharp voice cut through the room like a razor blade.
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"What is the meaning of this childish display?"
My mother stood in the doorway, her pearls gleaming under the chandelier lights, her arms crossed over her chest, staring down at us with utter contempt.
