“I unequivocally deny ever doing harm of any kind to my daughter.” My voice remains steady with truth, but my body trembles with outrage. “I would never.”
The social services case worker, Ms. Darling, scribbles on her little pad, her brows knitted and her lips thinned. She practically vibrates suspicion and disapproval.
“Who accused me of this?” Of course, I know it was Ramone, but I want to hear her say it.
She looks at me from behind the glare of her glasses, sharp eyes taking in everything from my hair to my tennis shoes, and moving back over me like she wants to make sure she didn’t miss anything.
“We maintain the anonymity of those who come forward to report suspected abuse,” she says.
“That’s not fair.” I press my palms to my thighs.
“It is when you have the child’s best interest at heart, which we do.”
“So do I.” I draw a deep breath. “I’m sure you can imagine as a parent who has never harmed my baby and would do anything to protect her, an accusation like this is really frustrating. Insulting, actually.”
“Iris, let’s just cooperate,” Caleb says from the bottom of the stairwell. He has Sarai in his arms, and she blinks at me sleepily.
“We woke her from her nap for this,” I tell Ms. Darling, my tone one-third apology and two-thirds accusation.
I shift on the couch, trying to get comfortable, searching for relief. I’m still raw and throbbing from Caleb’s invasion last night. I thought he would hit me, but apparently, he believed a gun to my head and shoved between my legs was enough to keep me in line.
He was not wrong.
For now. At least until I can get my journal back and start demolishing this wall of lies he’s trapped me in. My word against his isn’t enough to get me out of this.
My chest goes tight at the sight of Sarai in Caleb’s arms. I walk over and take her.
“Hey, princess.” I smile into her sleepy eyes. “Did we wake you up?”
She gurgles happily, even though her eyes are sleep-hazed. She’s such a happy baby, and I’m determined she’ll stay that way.
Ms. Darling’s face softens into that lady-putty women always melt into around Caleb. I get it. The shell is pretty impressive—six foot six inch, toned, tan, blond. The man is practically gilded. Not to mention those violet–blue eyes he’s passed onto our daughter. When you get to the center, though—when you peel back the golden overlay—at his core he’s nothing but a rotting side of meat. Spoiling and crawling with maggots. And I’m the lucky girl who gets to snuggle up to that every night.
“Mr. Bradley,” Ms. Darling breathes, her eyes admiring. “Thank you for bringing her down.”
“Please call me Caleb.” He adds the megawatt smile. “We want to get to the bottom of why anyone would say something like this about us.”
I roll my eyes. If I want to get to the bottom of anything, it’s the lies he and Ramone told to bring this woman here in the first place.
“Well technically,” Ms. Darling says, darting me a quick glance, “the complaint wasn’t filed against you. Just your fiancée.”
“I’m not his fiancée.”
The words spew out before I think better of them. The glacial look in Caleb’s eyes makes me wish I had kept my mouth shut, but my chin still tilts to a defiant angle.
“I’m sorry.” She looks at MiMi’s ring on my finger. “I thought—”
“No problem,” Caleb cuts in, smooth as a knife through butter. “We’re a family, the three of us. Natural mistake. What do you need to do? We want to cooperate fully.”
I suppress a frustrated sigh. His false solicitousness frays my nerves.
“With older children,” Ms. Darling says, “we interview them on their own, but since Sarai is a baby I’ll just need to examine her.”
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, fury bubbling under my skin. “I haven’t done a thing to hurt her, and these accusations are completely unfounded.”
“Of course they are, babe,” Caleb says soothingly. “So we just get this over with. Ms. Darling is simply doing her job.”
He reaches to brush the hair back from my shoulder, and I flinch. His eyes narrow, but the smile he offers is a thick pomade smoothed over his anger, slicking back his displeasure.
“May I see her?” Ms. Darling extends her arms, and it takes everything in me to hand Sarai over to her. I know she won’t find any marks or bruises, but this process is humiliating. I’m adding it to the list of things I’ll never forgive Caleb for.
Caleb and I watch as Ms. Darling lays Sarai on the couch and strips her clothes off, leaving her in only her diaper. Tears sting my eyes while she combs my baby girl’s plump little arms and legs for marks I’m supposed to have left on her. The painful irony is that the real abuser is standing right beside me. Until I find that journal, Caleb’s right. I don’t trust our legal system not to award Caleb joint, if not full, custody after the tower of lies and circumstantial evidence he’s stockpiled against me.
“I think everything is in order here.” Ms. Darling slips Sarai’s footed onesie back on. “I don’t see any evidence of abuse.”
“Of course you don’t, because I would never,” I snap.
Her brows lift at my sharp tone.
“I’m sorry. This is just all awful and disgusting. To think someone would accuse me of something like this, and we are . . . I am being subjected to this, is just a sore spot for me, as you can imagine.”
“I’m sorry for any inconvenience,” Ms. Darling says. “But when we receive a call like that, we have to make sure.”
“Do you have any idea why someone would lie about this?” I demand, at least wanting her to consider someone is out to get me, to tarnish me. I wish I could spill Caleb’s diabolical plan, but I have no proof and would only look like I was trying to deflect attention. I don’t look at him, but I feel Caleb’s stare boring into the side of my face as surely as the barrel of his gun did last night.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Ms. Darling says, a small frown knitting her brows. “Regardless, we’ll stay in touch.”
“Stay in touch?” My voice skips up a few octaves. “Why? You’ve seen that she’s fine. Is this not over?”
“Just as a precaution, we’ll schedule one more visit to ensure conditions remain consistent.”
Dammit. I have enough to worry about without having to suffer through this useless farce again.
When Caleb walks her out, I’m already halfway up the stairs and in the nursery by the time I hear her car pulling away. It only takes a little humming, several walky-bounces, and a few minutes before Sarai’s little eyes are drooping and she resumes her nap. I close the nursery door quietly and turn to go back downstairs, only to collide with a wall of muscle.
“Oh.” Anxiety at being this close to him corsets my torso, making breathing difficult. “I didn’t see you there.”
He doesn’t reply, but grabs my elbow roughly and herds me down the hall toward our bedroom. I’m tripping over my feet, trying to keep up. As soon as we’re in the room, he closes the door.
“So this visit was a sore spot for you, huh?” he asks. “I’ll give you a sore spot.”
“Caleb, I—”
The back of Caleb’s huge hand slaps the words from my mouth. I touch my lips, the sight of blood on my fingers transfixing me for only a second before I spring into action. I take off for the bathroom, but only make it a few steps before Caleb’s arm, ungiving bone, tight sinew, and hardened muscle, hooks around my waist from behind, hauling me off my feet. He flings me to the bed so hard I almost bounce off. I sit up, determined to make it to safety, but his fist slams into my face. My teeth rattle, and agony blossoms over my jaw and cheekbone.
Now I understand why he didn’t hit me last night. He knew Ms. Darling was coming and saved all this rage for after she left. His violence is not uncontrolled. It’s a thing of cold calculation, which in some ways makes it even more dangerous.
“Caleb, please,” I manage to say, though I can barely get the words past my swelling lips.
“Don’t you ever defy me in front of other people again,” he grits out, his expression made of stone, his eyes nearly black with rage.
His fist flies at me like a missile, but I duck and roll off the bed, landing in an undignified heap. I scramble to my feet, but he shoves me from behind, and I crash into the bedside table. It tips over, the lamp shattering against the wall. From the floor, I see him loosening his belt.
Oh God, no.
I raise my hands to protect my face from the leather strap hurtling through the air. It snaps against my wrist and fingers, cutting into the skin. Before I can process the first lash, several rain down on my arm, a deluge of terror that reddens my flesh with livid welts. In quick succession, the belt falls time and again, a wave that never ebbs, but just keeps coming, keeps crashing over me. The leather slashes into my back and my legs. The buckle nicks my knee, and I howl like a wounded animal, but there’s no one to rescue me. I am the dumb lamb that wandered from the fold, and I’ve stumbled into the razor teeth of a hunter’s trap.
“Oh, God. Caleb, please.” Pain steals my breath, and my words barely make it out before another punch slams my head into the wall. The room spins and tilts, and the edges darken.
I slump against the wall, too disoriented to respond. The belt keeps falling, seeking any tender flesh it has overlooked, and I stop fighting the darkness because it’s the only place I’ll find mercy.
