Somewhere in the distance, Heather’s laughter echoed—faint, almost unreal, like it belonged to another place entirely.

My vision blurred.

The baby moved inside me.

That was the only thing keeping me awake.

“Please… stay with me…” I begged silently.

Ryan paced the kitchen, breathing hard, the wooden stick still clutched in his hand.

—She always does this —Heather said with a scoff—. Crying, passing out… acting like it’s a performance.

“If she were mine,” Derek muttered, “she wouldn’t dare keep this up.”

Nicole stood nearby, still filming.

“This is going to blow up online,” she said under her breath. “Pregnant wife meltdown.”

I tried to move.

I couldn’t.

Then I heard something.

At first, I thought I imagined it.

An engine.

Then another.

Then the sharp screech of tires stopping right outside the house.

Ryan frowned.

—Who shows up at this hour?

Heather moved to the window.

Her expression changed instantly.

The smirk vanished.

—Ryan…

—What?

—I think… someone’s here for you.

Then—

Three heavy strikes against the door.

Not knocks.

Blows.

“OPEN THE DOOR!” a man’s voice thundered.

I knew that voice.

Even through the haze.

Ethan.

My brother.

Ryan rolled his eyes.

—That idiot again.

Derek stood up.

—I’ll handle it.

He walked over and cracked the door open.

He didn’t even get a word out.

The door slammed inward with force.

Ethan burst inside.

Tall. Solid. The kind of presence that filled the entire room.

His eyes scanned everything in seconds—

The stick.

Me on the floor.

The blood on my leg.

My hands protecting my stomach.

Then silence.

He didn’t shout.

Didn’t threaten.

He only asked one thing.

—Who did this?

Ryan stepped forward, trying to act tough.

—This is my house. You better leave before—

He didn’t finish.

Ethan hit him.

One clean punch.

Ryan crashed into the table, sending dishes shattering across the floor.

Heather screamed.

—YOU’RE INSANE!

Derek rushed forward.

Ethan shoved him back into the wall like he weighed nothing.

—Don’t.

Nicole dropped her phone.

Ethan turned to me.

He knelt down beside me carefully.

—Hey… hey, look at me.

I forced my eyes open.

—Ethan…

The moment he saw the bruises on my leg, his face hardened.

—He hit you?

I barely nodded.

Silence again.

Heavy. Final.

Ethan exhaled slowly, then pulled out his phone.

—911. I need an ambulance and officers. Domestic assault. Pregnant victim.

Heather snapped:

—This is a family issue!

Ethan looked up at her, his gaze cold and steady.