Chapter 3 - The Return of the Abusers
The slick, black SUV pulled into the driveway of the elegant suburban home. The trunk was overflowing with designer shopping bags from Nordstrom, Gucci, and Coach.
"I still think you should have bought the red leather handbag as well, Diane," Chloe, Blake’s sister, giggled as she adjusted her new sunglasses. "It looked absolutely stunning on you."
"Oh, please, I can always order it online," Diane scoffed, smoothing her pristine beige trench coat. "But it was so much more satisfying to buy it in person. And honestly, it felt so good to get out of that stuffy house. Clara’s whining was giving me a headache."
Blake laughed, turning off the engine. "Yeah, she really thought she could guilt-trip me into staying. 'Oh, I'm in labor!' Please. She’s only thirty-eight weeks. My mother carried me to forty-one weeks and never complained once."
They got out of the car, carrying their expensive purchases, laughing and chatting. But as they walked up the stone pathway, the laughter died in Blake’s throat.
The front door was splintered and hanging wide open.
"What the...?" Blake muttered, stopping in his tracks.
"Did you leave the door open, Blake?" Diane asked, her voice instantly dropping its cheerful tone. "I swear, if we got robbed because of your carelessness..."
Blake pushed past his mother and stepped over the threshold. The moment he crossed the entryway, his shopping bags slipped from his fingers, spilling luxury items onto the floor.
"Oh my god," Chloe gasped, covering her mouth.
The living room was unrecognizable. The white, plush sofa was stained with dark red streaks. On the floor, a massive pool of blood and fluid had soaked deep into the expensive rug. Shards of glass and ceramic were scattered like shrapnel, alongside discarded, blood-soaked medical gauze and a pair of steel scissors. The air smelled metallic and sterile.
"Clara?" Blake called out, his voice cracking with sudden, overwhelming terror.
He saw a bloody handprint smeared against the kitchen counter where Clara had desperately tried to hold herself up. The sheer violence of the scene made his stomach churn.
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"Blake..." Diane whispered, her face turning completely pale as she stared at the pool of blood. "What happened here? Did... did someone attack her?"
Blake dropped to his knees in the middle of the ruined living room, his hands shaking violently as they touched the cold, stained floor. For the first time in his life, a crushing weight of dread and guilt settled onto his chest. He had left her. He had locked her in. And now, it looked as though his wife and unborn children had been brutally taken from him in a pool of blood.
