“I see you, Rachel,” he whispered, his voice dangerously close to the splintered gap. “I see the shadow of your feet. Open the door, honey. Let me help you. It’ll be quicker that way.”
“Daniel, look!” Vanessa suddenly shrieked from the living room. “On the counter! Her purse—her keys are still here, but her phone isn’t!”
“Damn it!” Daniel roared.
He didn’t throw his shoulder against the door this time. Instead, he kicked it. The heavy, solid wood shuddered, and the bottom latch tore completely out of the drywall. The door swung inward by a few inches, blocked only by my body weight and the heavy wicker laundry hamper I had dragged in front of it.
The gap was now wide enough for him to see us clearly.
Daniel’s eyes locked onto mine. A sickening, cruel smile spread across his lips. “There you are. Look at you. Look at what you’ve done to our son, Rachel. If you had just signed the divorce papers and let me have the trust fund, we wouldn’t be here.”
“You… you monster,” I choked out, my voice raspy, my throat burning as if filled with acid. It was the first time I had spoken, and it took every ounce of my remaining strength.
“Call me what you want,” Daniel said smoothly, reaching his arm through the cracked door, his fingers straining to reach the inner handle to push the obstruction away. “But in an hour, the police will find a tragic murder-suicide. A depressed mother, unable to cope with an impending divorce, poisons her own son and takes her own life. And me? The grieving husband, comforted by his loyal assistant, miles away on a business trip.”
“The police… already know,” I wheezed, lifting the phone just high enough for him to see the glowing screen.
Daniel’s smile vanished. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.
“You bitch!” he screamed.
He threw his entire weight against the door. The wicker hamper crushed into splinters. The force slammed the door into my shoulder, sending a bolt of agonizing pain down my spine. I was thrown backward onto the cold tile, losing my grip on Noah.
The phone flew from my hand, skittering across the floor and sliding directly under the clawfoot bathtub.
“Ma’am! Ma’am! We hear him! Units are turning onto your street now!” the operator’s voice echoed faintly from beneath the tub, but it sounded like it was underwater. My vision was tunneling. Black spots flared at the edges of my sight. The poison was shutting my body down. My muscles felt like lead; I couldn’t lift my arms.
Daniel stepped into the bathroom.
