Chapter 8 - The Great Escape
When Meredith lunged, the instinct that had kept me alive in the trauma unit for years took over. I didn't retreat; I sidestepped, catching her wrist with a practiced grip. The knife clattered to the hardwood. She screamed—a raw, inhuman sound of rage—and clawed at my face.
"Lily, run!" I shouted, not letting go of Meredith’s arm. "Get out of the house, now! Go to the neighbors!"
Lily didn't hesitate. She bolted toward the stairs.
Meredith thrashed, her strength fueled by a manic desperation. "They won't believe you!" she spat, her face inches from mine. "I'm the mother! I'm the victim!"
I shoved her back against the doorframe, pinning her with my body weight. I pulled my phone from my pocket and hit the emergency speed dial I’d set up earlier—not for the police, but for the direct line to the precinct where Sarah had already briefed the detectives.
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"I have her," I shouted into the phone. "She’s armed and combative. Get here now."
Outside, the wail of sirens began to rise in the distance. As the blue and red lights bled through the bedroom curtains, Meredith’s fight vanished, replaced by a sudden, chilling stillness. She slumped, her eyes drifting toward the window as if she were watching her life—and her secrets—turning to ash for the final time. When the officers burst into the room, she didn't fight. She simply smoothed her hair and began to cry, the performance starting all over again. But this time, the audience wasn't buying it.
