Chapter 1 - The Twenty-Seven-Minute Eternity
The digital clock on my dashboard glared back at me: 2:14 PM.
My knuckles were bleached white, clamped around the steering wheel so hard my forearm muscles cramped. The sedan accelerated, tires whining as I took a suburban turn too fast, the rear end drifting slightly before the traction control kicked in. I didn't care. I didn't care if the engine blew, if I got pulled over, or if I crashed. Twenty-seven minutes. That was what Google Maps had chillingly projected when I tore out of the office parking lot. Now, it was down to twenty-two. Twenty-two minutes of absolute, suffocating terror.
My phone was propped on the air vent, connected via Bluetooth, but the line to Rachel was silent except for the harsh, ragged sound of her breathing.
"Rach? Are you still there?" I choked out, my voice cracking into a dry sob.
"I’m pulling onto his street now, Sarah," Rachel said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm—the flat, icy composure she used to adopt right before stepping into an MMA cage. "Dispatch has the address. Local cruisers are three minutes out. I’m not waiting."
"Don't let her touch her. Please, God, don't let her touch Lily again," I begged, tears blinding my vision so badly I had to rely on peripheral shapes and street signs.
"She won't," Rachel promised. The line clicked as she disconnected the Bluetooth and presumably shoved the phone into her pocket, leaving me with the hollow echo of my own desperate gasps inside the car.
My mind raced backward, tearing apart every warning sign I had ignored over the past year since Daniel and I finalized our custody agreement. Daniel had always been passive, a man who drifted through life on the coattails of whatever woman was currently managing his schedule. When we divorced, it was amicable—or so I thought. He wanted a clean break; I wanted peace. But then came Vanessa.
Vanessa was twenty-six, sharp-tongued, impeccably groomed, and possessed a cold, impatient streak that she barely concealed behind a smile when she dropped Lily off. I had caught Lily flinching once when Vanessa raised her voice at a grocery store checkout line. I had confronted Daniel about it, and he had rolled his eyes, calling me a "hyperventilating ex-wife" who couldn't stand seeing him move on.
“If I cry, she’ll hurt me again.”
Lily’s whisper echoed in my ears like a death knell. A five-year-old child doesn't invent those words. She doesn't invent the raw, suffocating fear in her voice.
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I glanced down at the GPS. Fourteen minutes remaining. It felt like an eternity. Every red light was a personal insult; every slower driver ahead of me was an obstacle I prayed I wouldn't have to swerve around. I slammed my palm against the steering wheel, screaming out my frustration, my terror, my helpless rage into the empty cabin of my car.
Hang on, baby. Just hang on. Auntie Rach is there.
