CHAPTER 4 — FINAL
The deafening roar of the Magnum completely erased the sounds of my own screaming.
Thick, acrid smoke instantly filled the air of the ruined study. My ears rang with a sharp, continuous whine that blocked out every other noise in the house. The heavy recoil of the massive weapon had sent a brutal shockwave tearing entirely through my dislocated shoulder.
I slowly lowered the heavy steel barrel. My hands were shaking so violently I thought I might completely drop the weapon.
Diane was sprawled flat on her back across the dark Persian rug. She lay completely still.
Her cold, dark eyes were wide open, staring blankly up at the shattered wooden doorframe. A massive, dark red stain was spreading rapidly across the front of her expensive silk blouse.
I hadn’t aimed. I hadn’t thought about the mechanics of firing a gun. I had simply reacted with the raw, desperate instinct of a mother protecting her unborn child.
The heavy bullet had caught her squarely in the center of her chest.
Mark was completely frozen in place. He stood over my legs, his heavy hands still raised from where he had prepared to deliver the completely fatal blow to my skull.
He slowly looked down at his dead wife.
The cold, calculating mastermind was completely gone. The sterile, emotionless planner who viewed my life as a simple mathematical equation had vanished entirely.
He let out a pathetic, high-pitched whimper. It sounded exactly like a scared, completely helpless child.
He fell heavily to his knees on the carpet, landing directly in the growing pool of Diane’s blood. He reached out with shaking fingers and grabbed her lifeless hand.
“Diane,” he whispered brokenly.
I didn’t feel a single ounce of pity. I didn’t feel any sorrow for the man I had slept next to every single night for twelve years.
I felt nothing but pure, completely unadulterated hatred.
I shifted the heavy barrel of the revolver. I pointed it directly at the center of Mark’s forehead.
“Back away from her,” I ordered. My voice was a harsh, guttural rasp that I barely recognized as my own.
Mark snapped his head toward me. His hollow eyes were wide with sudden, absolute terror. He saw the cold, unforgiving resolve in my face. He finally realized I wasn’t the completely naive, obedient wife he thought he had married.
He entirely let go of Diane’s hand and scrambled frantically backward on his hands and knees. He hit the front of his massive mahogany desk and cowered entirely against the dark wood.
Another massive contraction suddenly hit me. It was a brutal, rolling wave of absolute physical agony.
My entire pelvis felt like it was being crushed tightly in a cold hydraulic press. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and groaned loudly. My teeth ground together so hard my jaw fiercely ached.
But I completely refused to lower the gun.
I rested my right forearm heavily against the side of the leather armchair. I used the solid furniture to perfectly steady the heavy weapon.
Mark saw my blinding pain. A brief, terrible flash of his old, calculated malice crossed his bloody face. He shifted his heavy weight, preparing to violently lunge at me while I was consumed by the contraction.
I slowly pulled the hammer of the Magnum back with my left thumb. The sharp, completely metallic click echoed like a bomb in the silent room.
“Try it,” I gasped, completely out of breath. “Please. Give me one reason.”
Mark froze completely again. He pressed his heavy back flat against the desk. He was an absolute coward. He only attacked when his victims were entirely helpless and completely blind to his true nature.
Now, he was staring straight down the barrel of his own gun, held by a woman who had absolutely nothing left to lose.
I looked slowly over to the center of the dark room.
Buster was lying entirely still near the shattered doorway. His beautiful golden fur was heavily matted with dark blood from the horrific poker strike.
The loyal dog had completely given his life to save mine. He had bought me the exact three seconds I desperately needed to grab the weapon from the floor.
Hot, bitter tears finally spilled fast and heavy down my cheeks. I silently promised my beautiful dog that his ultimate sacrifice would never be in vain. I was going to completely survive this night. My son was going to survive.
Flashing red and blue lights suddenly painted the shattered bay window entirely behind me.
The gunshot had been completely deafening in the quiet suburban neighborhood. The Millers next door must have called 911 the second they heard the violent blast.
Heavy tires screeched to a sudden, violent halt on the asphalt of my driveway. Car doors slammed heavily in rapid succession.
“Police department!” a deep, commanding voice bellowed loudly from the front porch. “Is anyone inside?”
Mark’s bloody face lit up with a sudden, completely desperate hope. He saw an opening. He saw a brief chance to entirely spin his horrific narrative.
He opened his mouth to scream frantically for help. He was going to tell them I had completely lost my mind. He was going to say I shot his sister in a paranoid, completely unprovoked rage.
“Help!” Mark yelled loudly toward the hallway. “She’s got a gun! She killed her!”
Heavy, dark boots thundered quickly into the marble foyer. The shattered, broken study door offered the officers a completely perfect view of the carnage inside the room.
Two armed officers stepped swiftly into the doorway, their heavy service weapons drawn and pointed directly at me.
“Drop the weapon!” the taller officer commanded violently. “Drop it right now!”
I didn’t entirely hesitate. I slowly uncurled my bleeding, broken fingers from the heavy black grip. The warm revolver hit the dark carpet with a soft, heavy thud.
I entirely raised my good left hand high in the air. My right arm hung completely useless and violently dislocated at my side.
“I’m pregnant,” I sobbed heavily, the massive adrenaline finally leaving my system in a rapid, terrifying rush. “My water broke. He tried to completely murder me.”
Mark pointed a shaking, bloody finger directly at my face.
“She’s lying!” he screamed frantically at the cops. “She’s having a massive psychotic break! She shot my sister! Look at her!”
The officers didn’t completely lower their weapons. They scanned the entirely destroyed room cautiously.
They saw my shattered right hand. They saw the massive, undeniable pool of amniotic fluid and dark blood completely soaking the carpet beneath me. They saw Buster’s lifeless body near the door.
And then, the taller officer looked slowly down at the mahogany desk.
The life insurance policies were still sitting exactly where Diane had confidently left them. The bright yellow highlighted section regarding the completely fatal unborn infant payout was entirely visible under the glowing desk lamp.
The officer looked sharply at Mark’s entirely shredded suit pants. He saw the deep, massive defensive bite marks tearing through his calf.
“Cuff him,” the tall officer said quietly to his partner.
Mark entirely fought them. He thrashed wildly and kicked heavily, screaming loudly about his rights, screaming frantically about his dead wife.
They slammed his face incredibly hard into his own expensive mahogany desk. The sharp, wet sound of his nose completely breaking was immensely satisfying. They hauled him roughly out of the room in heavy, tight steel handcuffs.
Paramedics completely swarmed the study mere seconds later.
Strong, capable hands lifted my heavy, completely exhausted body onto a firm canvas stretcher. They strapped me down securely.
The sheer pain in my dislocated shoulder flared wildly as they moved me. A paramedic quickly injected something cold and sharp entirely into my thigh to numb the massive trauma.
“We need to go, right now,” the female medic shouted urgently to her partner. “She’s crowning. The baby’s heart rate is entirely dropping.”
They rolled me rapidly out through the cold marble foyer. I looked heavily up at the massive, completely steep wooden staircase one last time.
I had almost died violently on those exact steps. My completely innocent son had almost died.
The cold, crisp night air hit my pale face as they loaded me urgently into the back of the waiting ambulance. The heavy siren wailed instantly, a frantic, completely screaming noise that perfectly matched the terror entirely inside my own chest.
The rapid ride to the hospital was a terrifying blur of incredibly bright lights, shouting medical voices, and entirely blinding physical pain.
The doctors completely bypassed the maternity ward. They rolled me straight into a freezing emergency surgical theater.
My shoulder was fully dislocated. Three of my right fingers were completely severely fractured. I had lost a massive, highly dangerous amount of blood from the heavy fall and the pure stress of the night.
Natural birth was completely no longer an option. The baby was entirely in severe distress from the violence.
They placed a soft plastic mask completely over my face. The anesthesiologist told me calmly to count backward from ten.
I only made it entirely to eight before the dark, heavy silence completely swallowed me.
I woke up entirely to the steady, rhythmic beeping of a digital heart monitor.
The hospital room was completely quiet. Soft, warm morning sunlight filtered beautifully through the closed plastic blinds.
My right arm was heavily immobilized in a thick, completely rigid medical sling. My broken fingers were wrapped securely in stark white medical tape.
My stomach was entirely flat.
Pure, unadulterated panic seized me instantly. I tried frantically to sit up, but a sharp, burning pain sliced completely through my lower abdomen. The fresh C-section incision burned fiercely.
“Easy, Sarah. Easy.”
A kind, older nurse with warm, gentle brown eyes stepped quickly into my vision. She gently pushed my completely weak shoulders back down against the soft pillows.
She turned slowly toward a clear plastic hospital bassinet resting perfectly near the window.
She reached entirely inside and lifted a small, completely perfect bundle wrapped snugly in a striped receiving blanket.
“He’s beautiful,” the nurse said softly, smiling warmly. “He is absolutely completely perfect.”
She laid my beautiful son gently on my chest.
He was small, weighing exactly six pounds and four ounces. He had a full, thick head of dark hair and tiny, completely perfect fingers.
He was breathing softly, fast entirely asleep against my racing heartbeat.
I wrapped my good left arm entirely around his warm, completely fragile body. I buried my face entirely in his soft hair and wept loudly.
They were heavy tears of absolute, profound grief. They were entirely tears of massive physical and emotional trauma.
But most importantly, they were tears of pure, completely undeniable victory.
We had won. We had entirely survived the absolute monsters that lived in our home.
A few short days later, a tired police detective named Reynolds visited my quiet hospital room.
He sat heavily in the hard plastic chair perfectly positioned by my bed, holding a thick, completely packed manila file.
He told me the entire, completely horrifying truth. The truth that Mark and Diane had hidden so perfectly carefully for entirely fifteen years.
They were completely professional, cold-blooded grifters. They had pulled this exact, entirely fatal scam twice before in completely different states under entirely different names.
They deliberately targeted vulnerable, entirely successful older women. They manufactured perfectly tragic, completely fatal accidents. They collected the massive, completely untaxed insurance checks and entirely disappeared together.
But they had completely never tried it with a child involved before. The two million entirely wasn’t enough this time. They greedily wanted the extra five hundred thousand from the specific unborn infant rider.
That completely massive greed was their entirely fatal mistake.
The detective told me they had completely searched the large house thoroughly. They entirely ripped up the floorboards and opened every wall. They found a small, hidden locked safe completely concealed behind the drywall in Mark’s master closet.
Inside, they found a massive, completely undeniable stockpile of crushed Mifepristone pills.
The police entirely ordered a deep, completely thorough toxicology analysis of my long hair follicles. The horrific results were entirely, scientifically undeniable.
Mark had been secretly entirely poisoning me for three solid years. He had systematically, completely coldly murdered our first three babies just to entirely ensure his massive insurance payout was legally perfectly timed.
The local Texas prosecutor completely didn’t offer a single, tiny plea deal.
The criminal trial was completely brief and entirely brutal. The forensic evidence was completely overwhelming.
Mark sat entirely at the defense table looking completely hollow and utterly defeated. The expensive, completely tailored suits were entirely replaced by a bright orange county jumpsuit.
The jury deliberated for exactly forty-five minutes.
They found him entirely guilty on all criminal counts. First-degree murder completely for the unborn children. Attempted murder completely for me. Massive, entirely undeniable insurance fraud.
The judge sentenced him entirely to four completely consecutive life terms in a maximum-security federal penitentiary. Completely without the tiny possibility of eventual parole.
He would entirely die alone in a cold concrete cage. He would completely never see a single dime of my hard-earned money.
I entirely sold the large, beautiful suburban house in Dallas entirely below market value. I completely couldn’t bear to walk past that steep wooden staircase entirely ever again.
I bought a completely smaller, entirely cozy home with a massive fenced backyard on the quiet, completely safe outskirts of Austin.
The entirely fraudulent life insurance policy was entirely legally voided, but I completely kept my own hard-earned money and my highly successful career.
I hired a entirely wonderful, completely loving nanny. I focused entirely on healing my completely shattered body and raising my entirely beautiful son.
I named him Leo. It means entirely brave. He was the completely bravest person I had ever known, entirely fighting for his own life before he entirely even took his very first breath.
He is three years old completely now. He loves entirely running through the cold sprinklers in the green backyard. He loves entirely eating fresh, completely sweet strawberries.
He has my exact eyes. He has absolutely completely nothing of his horrific father.
But there is one entirely final piece of our completely broken past that we carry entirely with us every single day.
In the completely exact center of our new living room mantel, perfectly right next to Leo’s smiling baby pictures, sits a heavy, entirely polished wooden urn.
Draped entirely carefully over the smooth wood is a completely worn, incredibly thick leather collar with a completely tarnished brass name tag.
Buster.
He was entirely just a completely ordinary shelter dog. A massive, entirely shedding, completely goofy mutt that Mark had always completely despised.
But when the absolute completely pure devil entirely came to collect my life, a man entirely failed me, and a dog completely saved my entire world.
Every single night before I entirely put Leo to sleep, we stand completely quietly in front of the warm mantel.
I entirely lift my heavy son up. He reaches out his small, entirely chubby hand and completely gently pats the completely soft leather of the old collar.
“Good boy,” Leo entirely whispers softly.
May you like
I entirely kiss my son’s warm forehead and entirely hold him entirely tightly against my chest. The deep, entirely raised physical scars on my completely shattered shoulder and my entirely ruined abdomen still ache fiercely when it heavily rains. They are a completely constant, entirely brutal reminder of the absolute completely pure evil that once slept entirely peacefully in my own bed.
They priced my life at two million dollars, but they completely forgot to calculate the cost of a good dog.
