Chapter 2 - BETWEEN TWO HEARTBEATS
“Dad, something's wrong with the baby.” Emily's words reached Thomas through the noise of people crowding
into the destroyed reception hall. He pressed his phone against his ear and gave the dispatcher the
mansion's address.
“Thirty weeks pregnant,” he said. “She was struck across the back, fell to her knees, and she's having
abdominal tightening. She's conscious. I need an ambulance immediately.”
Emily watched his face because looking at his face was easier than looking at the glittering shards
surrounding them. Her fingers held the front of her dress, trembling whenever another tightening passed
through her belly.
Thomas asked her not to move. He placed the folded scarf beside her shoulder and used a clean linen
napkin to cover the small wound beneath her torn clothing, without pressing into her back.
A guest in a tuxedo approached with his phone held high. “Was there an accident?” he asked. Another guest
pointed at the fallen tree and shouted that the man in the navy suit had attacked their hostess.
Victoria used the accusation like a ladder. She pulled herself upright against a chair and raised one
shaking hand. “That man assaulted me,” she announced. “I want him arrested before he leaves this
property.”
Thomas did not answer. The emergency dispatcher was asking whether Emily was bleeding, whether she had
struck her abdomen, whether she was alert. Those questions mattered more than the furious woman across
the room.
“I didn't land on my stomach,” Emily said. “I caught myself with my hands. But she hit my back, and now I
can't tell if the baby is moving normally.”
Thomas repeated the information into the phone. He had seen serious injuries hidden beneath
ordinary-looking clothes, and he refused to reassure her with a promise no one could yet make.
Nora Ellis, the catering supervisor, pushed through the gathering guests. She was a square-shouldered
woman with flour on one sleeve and the practical expression of someone accustomed to managing disasters
without applause.
“Move back,” Nora told the onlookers. “The ambulance crew needs a clear path.” She pulled a rolling
champagne cart away from the entrance and crouched near Emily, avoiding the glass.
Nora's eyes moved from the ruined dress to Victoria's discarded pole. Her lips tightened. “I saw part of
it from the service doorway,” she said softly. “You're not alone, honey.”
Victoria heard her. “You're dismissed,” she snapped. “Every contract you have with my foundation is
finished.” Nora looked up for one moment, then turned back to Emily without changing position.
The first ambulance arrived within minutes, its blue and red lights sliding across the stained-glass
entrance. Two paramedics carried their equipment through the broken decorations, and Thomas immediately
stepped aside to give them space.
He answered questions while the crew assessed Emily's breathing, pulse, injury, and pregnancy symptoms.
An emergency medical technician covered her with a blanket, speaking slowly enough that Emily could
follow each instruction.
“I'm frightened for my daughter,” Emily admitted. She had not planned to reveal the baby's sex to
strangers, but the word slipped out naturally. “She was kicking before the party.”
“We're taking you for obstetric assessment,” the paramedic said. “We can't determine her condition from
this room, but the hospital can monitor her heartbeat. Tell us about every change you feel.”
Thomas walked beside the stretcher as they wheeled Emily toward the doors. Victoria called after them,
demanding his identification, his insurance details, and the name of the officer who would remove him.
Near the threshold, Emily caught Thomas's sleeve. “My phone,” she said. “It has Nathan's message on it.”
He understood immediately and asked Nora to find the device among the presents.
Nathan Hart had been Emily's husband, a paramedic who died during a highway rescue in August. He had left
dozens of voice recordings for the daughter he would never meet, small promises stored in ordinary files.
Nora found the cracked phone beside the velvet bag and passed it to Thomas. Behind her, a uniformed
security guard was already dragging gift boxes away, trying to make the hall look less like a crime
scene.
At St. Catherine's Medical Center, the obstetric team attached monitors to Emily's abdomen and listened
for the baby's heartbeat. Thomas stood at the foot of the bed, hands clasped so tightly his injured
forearm began to ache.
The heartbeat came through the speaker, quick and unmistakable. Emily closed her eyes. For the first time
since the cake struck her, she allowed herself to cry without trying to silence the sound.
Dr. Priya Shah explained that an initial reassuring heartbeat was important, but not the end of the
assessment. Trauma during pregnancy required monitoring for contractions, bleeding, and changes that
might develop later.
Emily remained in the hospital while staff observed the baby's heart-rate pattern and examined the injury
on her back. The cut was superficial; the fear inside her was not.
When a brief change in the fetal tracing brought another nurse to the bedside, Thomas felt the familiar
uselessness of a father who could carry his daughter out of a fire but could not fight what frightened
her now.
Dr. Shah adjusted the monitors, evaluated Emily, and kept the room calm. The tracing recovered. There was
no immediate indication that delivery was necessary, but the doctor wanted continued observation before
discussing discharge.
“Will she be okay?” Emily asked. Dr. Shah met her eyes. “Right now we have encouraging signs. I'll tell
you what we know, and we'll keep watching what we don't know yet.”
That answer was more compassionate than certainty would have been. Emily reached for Thomas's hand,
noticing the swelling beneath his sleeve for the first time. “She hurt you, too,” she murmured.
“It's a bruise,” he said. “You don't have to take care of me tonight.” He wished the truth could be that
simple. His mind kept replaying the tree beginning to lean.
An officer named Detective Rosa Vega arrived shortly before midnight to take an initial account. Victoria
had already reported that Thomas had attacked her unprovoked and caused thousands of dollars in damage.
Emily listened while Rosa described the conflicting statements. The detective made no promises about
arrests. She asked precise questions, documented the injury, and requested the names of anyone who might
have witnessed the encounter.
“Nora Ellis,” Emily said. “She came through the service door. And there were cameras above the entrance.
I noticed them because I helped plan where the donor photographs would happen.”
Rosa glanced at her notebook. “Mrs. Blackwell's security team says those cameras were offline for
maintenance tonight.” She watched Emily carefully. “Do you know anything about that?”
Emily remembered Victoria speaking to a technician before the gala, insisting that some areas be kept off
the official recording. At the time, it had sounded like an ordinary request for privacy.
“I know she wanted the cameras dark near the tree,” Emily said. “I didn't know why.” Her fingers closed
around Nathan's cracked phone as another thought surfaced.
On Thursday, Victoria had demanded that Emily sign a vendor approval sheet with numbers she couldn't
explain. Emily had refused. Tonight's cruelty had not come from nowhere; the cake was only the final
insult.
Thomas looked at his daughter. “What sheet?” he asked. Emily shook her head, exhausted. “I thought I was
protecting the charity. I didn't realize how far she would go.”
May you like
Rosa closed her notebook, then opened it again. “Tell me about the paperwork,” she said. Beyond the
hospital window, the first light snow began to fall across the parking lot.
