Evan froze in the doorway, his eyes darting between the phone and the fear on Noah’s face. For a moment, the silence was so thick I could almost hear my own heartbeat, thudding painfully in my chest.
“Get out,” my father’s voice commanded through the phone, firm and unyielding. “The cops are on their way, Evan. You don’t want to be here when they arrive.”
Evan hesitated, anger flashing across his features, but then something else flickered there—fear, maybe, or realization. He turned sharply on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him with enough force that the walls shuddered.
Noah ran to me, his little hands reaching out to touch my face gently. “Mama, Grandpa’s coming. You’re gonna be okay.”
I nodded, though every movement sent a jolt of pain through my ribs. “Thank you, Noah,” I whispered, though it came out as a rasp. “You’re so brave.”
We stayed there on the kitchen floor, Noah’s hand in mine, waiting. It wasn’t long before I heard the distant but unmistakable wail of sirens approaching, growing louder until they were right outside.
The door burst open, and my father rushed in, followed closely by two paramedics. Relief flooded through me at the sight of him. He dropped to his knees beside me, his face lined with worry.
“Lena,” he said softly, brushing hair away from my face. “You’re going to be okay. They’re here to help you.”
The paramedics set to work quickly, assessing my injuries, speaking in calm, soothing tones. One of them looked at Noah and smiled kindly. “You did a great job, calling for help so quickly.”
Noah nodded, though his eyes never left me. “I had to. Mama was hurt.”
I was lifted onto a stretcher with care, and as they wheeled me out of the house, I caught sight of Evan’s truck still parked in the driveway, empty and menacing. But my father’s hand was on my shoulder, grounding me, reminding me that I wasn’t alone.
In the ambulance, the paramedics worked efficiently, checking vitals and starting an IV. My father sat beside me, holding my hand. Noah was with a neighbor, safe and watched over.
“Lena,” Dad said, looking at me with a mix of sadness and determination. “You don’t have to go back to him. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”
I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I felt a glimmer of hope. Things would change. They had to.