He crossed the distance in seconds, dropping to his knees beside me. His hands moved over my face, my arms, checking for injuries while asking me rapid fire questions. What happened? Are you hurt? Is the baby okay? My father kicked my chair. I managed to say between contractions. I fell backwards.
The baby’s coming too early. Daniel’s jaw clenched, his eyes going dark. He looked up at my father, who still stood a few feet away, arms crossed defensively. Then his gaze moved to my mother, who had stepped back from the table, finally seeming to realize the severity of what had occurred. “You did this?” Daniels voice was quiet, controlled, but carrying an edge that made several people nearby step back instinctively.
He slowly stood to his full height, his prosecutor persona sliding into place like armor. “My father cleared his throat. She was being disrespectful to her mother. She needed to learn. You assaulted a pregnant woman. Daniel cut him off, his voice still eerily calm. Your pregnant daughter in front of 200 witnesses. He pulled his phone from his pocket with deliberate precision.
You’re going to want to start thinking very carefully about your next words. My mother moved forward, attempting her usual manipulation tactics. Now, Daniel, let’s not make this into something it’s not. It was an accident. She simply lost her balance. I watched the security footage,” Daniel said, gesturing toward the cameras mounted discreetly around the ballroom.
