I held his stare even while the agonizing pain tore through my lower body and I struggled to keep my eyes open against the dizzying haze that threatened to pull me under. The blood felt thick and warm between my thighs while the sharp granite edge of the island still burned against my side where I had been thrown with such force that I could barely catch my breath.

Every instinct in my body was screaming for help and for a single lungful of air that did not taste like copper while the cold tile floor pressed ruthlessly against my shaking knees. Bradley stood over me with that half drunk contempt he always wore when he believed that his cruelty made him look taller and more powerful in the eyes of his audience.

His mother sat at the mahogany table with a piece of roast beef still perched on her silver fork and her mouth was twisted in the kind of amusement that only truly rotten people can manage when they are witnessing another human being suffer. “You should really learn to be less dramatic about a simple stumble because you are making a mess of the floors that I spent all afternoon polishing,” Mrs. Pembroke said as she took a slow bite of her dinner.

“Call my father,” I said again and I made sure that my voice was no longer pleading or broken because I had finally reached the point where fear turned into something cold and solid. This time I did not cry out for mercy because I knew there was none to be found in this house and that realization made my words come out flat and certain.

Bradley let out a sharp snort and bent down to retrieve the expensive smartphone that he had tossed onto the rug just a few minutes ago during his initial outburst of rage. He grabbed my hair to yank my head back just enough to use the facial recognition software to unlock the screen because he enjoyed the small humiliation of proving that he still owned access to my life.

“Look at you trying to act tough when you can barely stay upright on the floor,” Bradley said while he grinned like a man who was about to stage a grand joke for a delighted audience. He scrolled through my contacts until he found the one labeled Dad and he hit the speaker button so that everyone in the room could hear the conversation.

Mrs. Pembroke actually straightened her back in her chair and set her fork down because she looked eager and festive as if this phone call was the after dinner entertainment she had been waiting for all evening. The line rang once and then twice while I prayed that he would pick up because I did not know how much longer I could keep the world from fading into blackness.

Then my father answered the phone and his voice came through the speaker low and steady as if he were standing right next to me in the kitchen. “Joanna, is that you?” he asked and I could hear the familiar clank of metal tools in the background of his workshop where he always went when he needed to think.

For one impossible second it felt like I was sixteen years old again and barefoot in his garage while I watched him pull apart an old engine and he taught me that every machine tells the truth if you are patient enough to listen to the rhythm. Bradley did not give me a chance to speak because he let out a loud laugh that was intended to mock the man on the other end of the line.

“Hey there old man, your daughter is currently on the floor making a massive scene and asking for her daddy to come save her,” Bradley said with a sneer while he leaned against the counter. His mother let out a sharp little cackle from the table and shouted toward the phone that my father should remember to bring a mop because I was bleeding all over her nice expensive tile.

The silence on the other end of the line changed shape in a way that I can only describe as a physical weight that gathered in the air like a storm before the first tree begins to bend under the pressure. When my father spoke again the warmth that usually defined his voice was entirely gone and replaced by something that sounded like sharpened steel.

“Put her on the phone right now,” my father said with a tone that made Bradley’s smile flicker for the briefest of moments before he recovered his arrogance. Bradley held the phone closer to my face and gestured for me to speak while he kept that mocking grin plastered across his face.

I forced a shallow breath into my lungs and tried to keep my voice from shaking even though the pain was becoming a white hot roar in my mind. “Dad, I need a code black and I think something is wrong with the baby,” I whispered while I pressed my hand against my stomach in a desperate attempt to protect the life growing inside me.

I heard my father inhale once but he did not succumb to panic because his mind was already moving into a state of pure calculation and strategy. I heard the sound of a heavy drawer slamming shut and the heavy thud of his work boots hitting the concrete floor of his shop with terrifying speed.

“Stay awake and listen to me because I need you to put pressure on your left side and do not move a single inch unless it is absolutely necessary,” he commanded with an authority that seemed to vibrate through the phone. Bradley rolled his eyes and shook his head as if he were listening to a child play a game of make believe.

“What is this supposed to be, some kind of mechanic fantasy where you think you can fix her with a wrench from three towns away?” Bradley asked with a mocking laugh. My father completely ignored him and continued to speak to me as if Bradley and his mother did not even exist in the same reality.

“An ambulance is exactly three minutes away from your front door and the county sheriff is right behind them with his sirens on,” my father said while his voice filled the kitchen in a way that no one in the room had expected. He told me that Dr. Abernathy was already moving to meet me at Mercy General and he warned me not to let Bradley or his mother touch me again.