Chapter 4 - What Waited in the Living Room
Travis parked in the driveway at 7:26 p.m.
Deborah stepped out first, carrying four shopping bags and the burgundy leather handbag she had insisted on buying.
Megan carried boxes of shoes.
Richard complained about the traffic.
They were laughing.
Then they saw the police vehicles.
Yellow tape stretched across the front walkway.
The broken window beside the door had been covered with clear plastic.
A dark stain marked the porch where paramedics had rolled my stretcher outside.
Travis dropped his keys.
“What happened?”
An officer stepped toward him.
“Are you Travis Carter?”
“Yes. This is my house.”
The officer lifted the tape.
“We need you to come inside.”
Deborah pushed forward.
“Where is my daughter-in-law? She has caused enough embarrassment for one day.”
No one answered her.
Inside, the living room looked like the aftermath of a violent attack.
The sofa cushions were soaked dark red.
Bloody towels covered the floor.
The broken lamp lay beneath the table.
Medical packaging, cut clothing, gauze, and an oxygen mask remained where emergency workers had dropped them.
Near the center of the room sat a small white blanket.
On top of it rested a tiny knitted cap stained with blood.
Travis stopped breathing.
One shopping bag slipped from Deborah’s hand.
A glass perfume bottle shattered inside it.
“What…” Megan whispered.
At the far end of the living room, Detective Brooks waited beside the security monitor.
Travis stared at the blood.
“Where is Emma?”
The detective did not answer immediately.
“Where is my wife?”
“She was transported to St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
“And my children?”
Detective Brooks looked directly at him.
“Your wife underwent emergency surgery. Both babies required resuscitation.”
Travis’s knees hit the floor.
“No.”
He crawled toward the bloodstained blanket.
“No, no, no…”
Deborah recovered first.
“This is ridiculous. Emma always exaggerates.”
The detective turned on the television.
The hallway security footage appeared.
There I was, gripping the counter, barely able to stand.
My voice came through the speakers.
The twins are coming.
Then Deborah appeared on-screen.
Take me and your sister to the mall instead.
The footage showed Travis removing my hand from his arm.
Don’t you dare move until I come back.
It showed Richard looking down at me after I fell.
She can wait a few hours. It’s not that serious.
It showed all four of them leaving.
The door slammed.
Then the footage continued.
They watched me crawl.
Watched me collapse.
Watched the lamp shatter.
Watched Daniel break through the window.
Watched paramedics race inside.
Watched one of them shout that my blood pressure was disappearing.
Travis covered his face.
“Turn it off.”
Detective Brooks did not.
The video showed my stretcher being carried out.
Only then did the screen go black.
Deborah lifted her chin.
“She is an adult. We did not force her to stay.”
“You knowingly left a woman with a high-risk twin pregnancy during active labor,” Detective Brooks said. “You received multiple emergency calls and chose not to respond.”
“We didn’t know it was truly serious,” Richard argued.
The detective placed a printout on the table.
It was the message Travis had sent me after my surgery.
Stop being dramatic.
Travis stared at it.
“I didn’t know she was in surgery.”
“The hospital message on your phone states that she was.”
His head snapped up.
“How do you know what was on my phone?”
“Mr. Hayes saved the voicemail he left you. The hospital documented its calls. Your phone records will confirm when you received them.”
Deborah stepped between the detective and her son.
“You are not blaming my family because Emma had a difficult birth.”
Detective Brooks studied her.
“No. I’m investigating why your family treated a medical emergency like an inconvenience.”
Another officer entered holding a small evidence bag.
Inside was Travis’s second phone.
The one he claimed he no longer used.
“We found this in the upstairs office,” the officer said.
Detective Brooks checked the screen.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What is it?” Travis asked.
She turned the phone toward him.
A message thread was open between Travis and his mother.
Three weeks earlier, Deborah had written:
Once the babies arrive, make sure Emma signs the house paperwork while she is medicated. She doesn’t need to know we’re using the property as security for Richard’s business loan.
Travis had replied:
May you like
I’ll handle her.
The bloodstained room suddenly became the smallest of his problems.
