The heavy lead doors groaned open, swallowing me into the sterile, freezing confines of the X-ray suite, and hissed shut behind me. For the first time in two years, I was physically separated from Julian. I sat shivering in the wheelchair, clutching my broken arm to my chest, mentally rehearsing the lie about the stairs.
A man in dark blue scrubs stood with his back to me, adjusting the massive, mechanical arm of the X-ray machine. “Alright, Mrs. Vance, let’s get a look at that arm,” he muttered, picking up the chart from a small metal desk.
He turned around, stepping under the bright examination lights.
My breath caught in my throat. The room began to spin.
The technician stopped dead in his tracks. The plastic clipboard slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the linoleum floor. He stared at me, his eyes widening in absolute, paralyzing shock.
*”Clara?”*
It was Caleb. My older brother. The man Julian had convinced me no longer cared if I lived or died. He looked older, tired, but his kind brown eyes were exactly as I remembered them.
“Caleb…” I choked out, a ragged sob finally escaping my chest.
Caleb rushed forward, dropping to his knees in front of my wheelchair. His eyes darted frantically, taking in the horrific, swollen angle of my arm, the faded, yellowish bruises on my collarbone peeking out from my ruined dress, and finally, my massive, trembling stomach. He gently reached out, hovering his hands over my uninjured arm, afraid to break me further.
His medical training kicked in, analyzing the trauma. He looked at my face, his voice thick with a sudden, blazing realization and a sorrow so deep it fractured my heart.
“Clara,” Caleb whispered, his jaw trembling. “This wasn’t a fall. Was it?”
The dam of my two-year silence violently broke. I burst into silent, gasping tears, nodding my head rapidly. Caleb reached out, gently wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumb, a fierce, protective fire igniting in his eyes. He stood up, turning to prepare the imaging machine to document the truth. But before he could even power on the monitor, a loud, aggressive pounding echoed from the heavy lead doors. Julian had grown impatient.
*Bang. Bang. Bang.*
“Clara? Are you done in there?” Julian’s muffled, commanding voice bled through the heavy metal.
My heart slammed against my ribs. Caleb turned toward the door, his fists clenching at his sides. If he opened that door right now, his protective instincts would trigger a violent confrontation that would undoubtedly get me, or my baby, killed before we could even attempt an escape. How could we possibly fight back?
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