Chapter 1 - The Curtain Between Me and the Floor
The curtain was the only thing holding me up. Thick off-white fabric, bunched hard in both my fists, dust in the weave scratching my palms. My heels were half off the sill and my back was pressed flat to the glass of the tall window, the daylight coming through so bright it made my eyes water. Below me, the floor of that formal room looked too far away for an upper floor that was supposed to feel safe, all polished wood and a rug I would have hit headfirst.
Across from me Daniel stood with the scissors open. Large, black-handled, the kind from a sewing kit, and he had them pressed right into the drape above where Mrs. Albright's hands were locked around it. His mother stood just behind his shoulder with her arms crossed, her pearl necklace catching the light. She did not look away. She did not blink.
My name is Sarah Miller. I was twenty-eight and seven months pregnant that morning.
It was just past ten. Sunlight fell in a straight sheet through the sheers beside the heavy drapes, lighting the cream walls and the molding and the framed art like nothing bad could happen in a room that clean. I could feel the sill digging into the backs of my calves through my light purple maternity dress. My hair kept sticking to my neck. Daniel's gray button-down was pulled loose on one side, his dark pants dusted at the knee, his brown belt twisted. He kept shifting his grip on those scissors.
I remember the sound before anything else. The metal whisper as the blades slid against the fabric. The housekeeper on her knees below us, her dark blue uniform with the white collar tight around her throat, her gray bun coming loose. She would not let go of the lower curtain. Both her hands held it, knuckles white, her whole weight leaning back against my weight.
I looked straight at my husband. "Daniel, help me."
His mother's voice came flat and cold behind him. "Let her fall. That child inherits nothing."
For a second I did not breathe. The sheer swayed against my arm. I could feel the baby move, a hard roll low in my stomach, and my hands tightened on their own. Daniel lifted the scissors higher, up near where my fingers were. The edge caught a thread and pulled it. I watched his hand shake.
"Daniel, please don't! Stop!"
He stopped, but he did not pull the blades away. The point stayed dented into the curtain. Below us the housekeeper jerked her head up, her mouth open, her eyes fixed on him while she held on. Her voice cracked through the room, urgent and rough from holding her breath.
"I know about the will. Your father changed the will."
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Everything froze around that sentence. Daniel's head turned. The scissors did not move from the fabric. He stared down at her, his face drained, his mouth barely moving.
"What did you say?"
