Chapter 5 - THE SEVERING OF ROOTS
The father released his grip.
The young husband dropped like a dead weight, slamming his knees hard against the hardwood floor.
He curled into a fetal position, coughing violently, dragging ragged lungfuls of air into his burning chest.
He didn't look up.
He didn't try to stand.
The silver-haired man ignored him completely.
He turned his attention down to the young woman pressed against the newel post.
His expression softened, the hard lines of his face cracking just enough to reveal a terrifying, bottomless reservoir of paternal grief.
He knelt down on one knee, completely unbothered by the dust on the floor.
He reached out with a hand that was steady as a rock.
His thumb gently brushed against the uninjured side of her face, tracing her jawline with agonizing care.
"Let's go home, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice losing every drop of ice it had held a moment before.
The pregnant woman looked down at her father’s hand.
The child logic inside her head finally found its voice.
Monsters only live in houses with locked doors, she thought, her tears finally spilling over her lashes.
If you leave the house, the monster turns into a shadow on the wall.
Shadows can't hit you when the sun is out.
She nodded slowly.
She pushed herself up from the floor, leaning her weight entirely against her father’s strong shoulder.
One of the four bodyguards stepped forward instantly.
He unzipped a sleek black leather duffel bag he had carried in from the car, placing it silently on the bottom step of the staircase.
The pregnant woman didn't pack much.
She didn't need to.
She reached into the pocket of her satin dress and pulled out a simple, silver-banded promise ring.
She dropped it onto the polished wood of the step.
It rolled once, twice, and then lay completely still beside the black duffel bag.
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A tiny, useless circle of metal abandoned in a palace of glass.
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