“Claire,” I said, gripping her hand with a strength that surprised both of us. “Call Aaron.”
Aaron was Claire’s husband. He was also a fifteen-year veteran of the city police department, a man who loved me like a little sister.
“I already did,” Claire smiled, but it was a cold, predatory expression. “He’s been at your house since midnight. He secured the scene. And Maddie? He called a judge he knows. A judge who was not happy to be woken up, but was absolutely horrified by the fire department’s report. An emergency protective order was signed at 4:00 AM.”
I nodded slowly, adjusting the IV line taped to my arm. “Good. Put your phone on my bedside table. Open the security camera app for the house.”
Claire frowned, concern wrinkling her forehead. “Maddie, you need to rest. Your blood pressure is still low. You don’t need to see them.”
“I do,” I replied, my eyes locked on the ceiling tiles. “I need to watch the exact moment he realizes that his mother’s birthday cake cost him his entire life.”
Two hours later, the motion alert on the security app chimed loudly in the quiet hospital room.
I leaned forward, ignoring the burning, pulling pain in my surgical incision, and watched the live feed from my front porch.
Ethan’s luxury sedan pulled smoothly into the driveway. The doors opened. Ethan stepped out, wearing sunglasses to hide his hangover, holding a white bakery box—leftover birthday cake. Patricia stepped out of the passenger side, adjusting her designer coat, looking deeply annoyed at having to make the trip.
They had absolutely no idea what was waiting for them behind the front door.
Through the grainy, wide-angle lens of the porch camera, I watched Ethan and Patricia walk arrogantly up the concrete path. I could hear their voices perfectly through the two-way audio feed on Claire’s phone.
“I am not staying long, Ethan,” Patricia complained, stepping carefully to avoid a puddle on the walkway. “I just want to give Madison a piece of my mind, grab a change of clothes, and leave. Locking us out of her phone, making a scene with the nurses… it’s infantile. She needs to grow up.”
“I know, Mom. I’ll handle it,” Ethan said confidently, shifting the white cake box to his other hand. “She’s probably just sulking in the maternity ward, trying to milk it for sympathy. I’ll tell her to pack a bag if she’s going to act like a child.”
They reached the top step of the porch.
Ethan reached into his pocket for his phone to unlock the smart door. But as he looked up, he froze mid-step.
The heavy mahogany door was standing slightly ajar. The thick, reinforced sidelight window next to it was completely shattered, the wooden frame splintered and destroyed as if hit by a bomb. Shards of heavy safety glass glittered maliciously in the afternoon sun, scattered across the welcome mat.