Chapter 1 - The Night I Finally Called My Father
The first time Hannah Mercer understood that her husband might actually kill the life growing inside her, she was sitting on the bathroom floor with one hand over her stomach and the other wrapped around a phone she could barely hold.
“Open the door, Hannah.”
Derek’s fist struck the wood.
The mirror above the sink trembled.
“Open it now.”
Hannah pressed her palm against her mouth to stop herself from making a sound.
She was twenty-seven weeks pregnant.
And less than fifteen minutes earlier, the man outside that door had told her she was going to apologize to his mistress.
When Hannah refused, something inside him had changed.
Not suddenly, she realized.
Honestly.
For the first time in four years, Derek had simply stopped hiding what he was.
Another blow rattled the door.
Hannah stared at the dark marks already rising along her forearm where his fingers had closed around her. Her shoulder throbbed. Her cheek burned where she had struck the edge of the hallway cabinet while trying to get away.
But all she could think about was the baby.
Please move.
Please.
Her trembling hand spread over the curve beneath her dress.
For three unbearable seconds, there was nothing.
Then a tiny movement pressed against her palm.
Hannah broke.
She lowered her head, crying silently as relief and terror collided inside her.
Outside, Derek’s voice changed.
That frightened her even more.
“Baby,” he said softly. “Come on. I’m sorry.”
Hannah looked toward the door.
“I lost my temper.”
Silence.
“You embarrassed me tonight.”
The tenderness vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.
“You know what Courtney means to the company. You know what I’ve invested in that relationship.”
Relationship.
The word landed differently now.
Hannah unlocked her phone.
Her thumb hovered over the emergency number.
Then she stopped.
Not because she believed Derek.
Not anymore.
Because another name had appeared on the screen.
Dad.
For almost a year, she had been ignoring her father’s questions.
Are you happy?
Why does Derek always answer for you?
Why don’t you come visit without him?
Why did you quit your job?
She had laughed each question away.
She had defended Derek.
She had even become angry with her father for asking.
Now Hannah pressed the call button.
Robert Mercer answered before the second ring.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Hannah tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Robert’s voice changed immediately.
“Hannah?”
“Dad.”
One word.
That was all she managed.
Then her entire body began shaking.
“Dad, I need you.”
A pause.
“What happened?”
She looked toward the bathroom door.
Derek hit it again.
Robert heard it.
“Hannah.”
His voice became frighteningly calm.
“Where are you?”
“In the bathroom.”
“Is Derek there?”
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Are you hurt?”
Hannah looked down at her stomach.
“I don’t know.”
The silence on the other end lasted less than a second.
But something happened inside it.
Her father stopped being the gentle man who made terrible pancakes on Sunday mornings and complained about the price of coffee.
His voice became the voice she remembered from childhood whenever a storm warning came over the radio.
Focused.
Certain.
“Lock the door. Do not open it for him.”
“Dad—”
“I’m coming.”
“Please hurry.”
“I’m already moving.”
The call ended.
Outside the bathroom, Derek laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because he had heard enough.
“You called your father?”
Hannah stayed silent.
“Oh, that’s perfect.”
His footsteps moved away.
Then returned.
“You’re twenty-nine years old, Hannah. What is your father going to do? Ground me?”
She closed her eyes.
Derek had always underestimated Robert.
Most people did.
Robert Mercer was sixty-one, slightly overweight, gray at the temples, and more interested in rebuilding old fishing boats than impressing anyone. He had spent twenty-seven years working investigations for a county public-safety agency before retiring to a small house twenty minutes outside Franklin, Tennessee.
He never bragged about it.
Derek treated him like an aging nobody.
Hannah had once mistaken Derek’s contempt for confidence.
There were many things she had mistaken for something else.
Possessiveness had looked like love.
Isolation had looked like devotion.
Financial control had looked like responsibility.
Jealousy had looked like passion.
And fear—
God, fear had looked like marriage.
Three years earlier, Derek Calloway had seemed like every safe decision Hannah had ever been told to make.
He was successful.
Polished.
Well connected.
He came from a respected family that owned several commercial-property businesses around Nashville. He wore perfectly fitted suits, remembered birthdays, opened doors, tipped generously, and could make an entire dinner table laugh without appearing to try.
Hannah had been working as a junior interior designer when they met.
Derek liked that she had ambitions.
At least, he said he did.
After they married, however, he began explaining how exhausting her job seemed.
Then he complained that she worked too late.
Then he questioned the men in her office.
Then he said starting a family required sacrifice.
When Hannah became pregnant after nearly two years of trying, Derek suggested she resign.
“It’s temporary,” he promised.
“You deserve to enjoy this.”
She wanted to believe him.
So she quit.
The first month felt peaceful.
The second felt smaller.
By the fourth, Derek was checking every purchase over fifty dollars.
At six months pregnant, Hannah realized she no longer had a credit card in her own name.
Whenever she raised concerns, he kissed her forehead.
“You’re carrying our child. Let me worry about the ugly stuff.”
She had convinced herself that love sometimes sounded controlling when someone was under pressure.
Then Courtney Lane appeared.
Derek introduced her as a consulting partner helping his company negotiate a major redevelopment project.
Courtney was thirty-four, elegant, confident, and always perfectly composed.
The first time Hannah met her, Courtney knew what wine Derek ordered.
The second time, she knew about the scar on his left shoulder from a college boating accident Hannah had never mentioned to her.
By the third meeting, Hannah stopped believing coincidences.
That evening, Derek had insisted Hannah attend a private client dinner at a downtown hotel.
“You need to be pleasant tonight,” he told her while fastening his cuff links.
Hannah looked at him through the bedroom mirror.
“I’m always pleasant.”
“Courtney will be there.”
Hannah turned.
“So?”
Derek sighed as though she had already disappointed him.
“I need you to understand something. This dinner is important.”
“I understand.”
“No, Hannah. You don’t.”
He stepped closer and adjusted the necklace around her neck.
“Courtney has access to investors I need. If she feels uncomfortable because my wife is glaring at her all night, this project could collapse.”
“I have never glared at anyone.”
“You have.”
“I have never even spoken to her badly.”
“That is not the point.”
“What is the point?”
He stared at her.
For one second, Hannah saw something cold behind his eyes.
Then it disappeared.
“The point,” he said, “is that you support me.”
She did.
Or she had.
Until the dinner.
Until Courtney leaned over the table and said, “Derek told me you were difficult to convince about moving to the house.”
Hannah’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.
“I’m sorry?”
Courtney smiled.
“The house. He said you fought him for months.”
Derek’s face tightened.
“Hannah misunderstood what I said.”
Courtney laughed softly.
“I probably misunderstood.”
But Hannah had not.
Later, while Derek was speaking with investors, she went to the restroom.
Courtney followed.
“You should stop making this harder than it has to be.”
Hannah stared at her through the mirror.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Courtney folded her arms.
“Derek loves you.”
The statement was so absurd Hannah nearly laughed.
“Then why are you sleeping with him?”
Courtney’s face changed.
Hannah had her answer.
The confrontation after the dinner happened in the car.
“You embarrassed me.”
“You cheated on me.”
“You knew what Courtney was to the business.”
“Stop calling her a business partner.”
Derek slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
“She is important.”
“She is your mistress.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“And you expect me to apologize to her?”
“You're going to apologize tomorrow.”
“No.”
One word.
A word Hannah had rarely used with him.
Derek pulled the car into the driveway.
“Say that again.”
“No.”
She had thought the worst thing he would do was yell.
She was wrong.
The argument became a struggle.
The struggle became Derek grabbing her arm.
Then shoving her.
Then Hannah stumbling backward.
The cabinet.
The floor.
The panic.
The bathroom.
Now she sat listening to her husband breathe on the other side of the door.
A minute passed.
Then another.
She heard him moving away.
Hannah waited.
Her heart pounded.
Then came a different sound.
The front door opened.
A voice carried through the house.
“Derek.”
Hannah's breath caught.
Her father.
Robert's voice had never sounded like that in her childhood.
It was quiet.
Almost too quiet.
Derek answered.
“You have no right to be here.”
“I came because my daughter asked me to.”
“She’s upset.”
“I know.”
“She exaggerated.”
“I’ll decide that.”
Hannah heard footsteps.
Then Derek said something she couldn't make out.
Robert's response was immediate.
“Do not go near that bathroom.”
Silence.
Hannah started crying again.
Not from fear this time.
From relief.
A few seconds later Robert knocked gently.
“Hannah? It’s Dad.”
She unlocked the door.
Robert opened it slowly.
The moment he saw her face, his expression broke.
He crouched in front of her.
“Sweetheart.”
Hannah fell into his arms.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I should have listened to you.”
Robert held her carefully.
“No.”
“I knew something was wrong.”
“I know.”
“I defended him.”
“You were trying to save your marriage.”
She looked at him.
“I think he was trying to destroy me.”
Robert glanced toward the hallway.
“I think you're right.”
Derek appeared behind them.
“This is ridiculous.”
Robert rose.
For several seconds, the two men stared at each other.
Derek straightened his shoulders.
“You're interfering in my marriage.”
Robert nodded.
“I am standing between a pregnant woman and a man who hurt her.”
Derek’s jaw tightened.
“She pushed me too.”
Hannah stared at him.
Robert didn't blink.
“Did she?”
Derek hesitated.
That tiny hesitation told Robert everything he needed to know.
He took out his phone.
“I already called for medical assistance.”
Derek's expression changed.
“You did what?”
“I heard my daughter say she didn’t know if the baby was okay.”
Robert moved closer.
“You're done talking to her tonight.”
Derek laughed nervously.
“You think you can just take my wife?”
“No.”
Robert looked directly into his eyes.
“She is not property.”
For the first time, Derek looked uncertain.
Hannah was taken to the hospital that night.
The baby was alive.
The heartbeat was strong.
There were signs of physical trauma, and doctors told her she needed monitoring, but her daughter was fighting just as fiercely as she was.
By sunrise, Hannah had not slept.
Robert sat beside the hospital bed.
His phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
Then at Hannah.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“Before I came here, I found something.”
“What?”
Robert hesitated.
“Your father-in-law called me.”
Hannah frowned.
“Why would he?”
“He wants to meet.”
“About Derek?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Robert's eyes hardened.
“He said Derek has been lying to everyone.”
Hannah's stomach dropped.
“How bad?”
Robert placed his phone on the blanket.
“He said, ‘If Hannah leaves him now, she won't understand what she's walking away from.’”
Hannah stared at the words.
Then another message appeared.
A photograph.
A document.
A bank statement.
Hannah recognized the account number.
It was hers.
Robert looked at her.
“Sweetheart, I think Derek has been preparing for this marriage to end.”
Hannah swallowed.
“But why?”
Robert opened the photograph.
“I don't know yet.”
May you like
He stared at the statement.
“But I intend to find out.”
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