Chapter 2 - The Line in the Sand"Eight," James continued, his voice cold as arctic ice.
Lauren looked at Dad. "Dad! Are you really going to let him talk to me like this?"
Dad swallowed hard, looking trapped. "James... son... maybe we can just calm down and discuss—"
"Seven," James stated, not breaking eye contact with Lauren for even a fraction of a second.
"This is insane!" Lauren shouted, her composure cracking. "She’s my niece! It was a discipline tap!"
"Six," James said. He pulled his phone from his pocket with his left hand, his thumb hovering over the dial pad. "Five."
The absolute certainty in his posture broke her. Lauren realized, in that split second, that he wasn't bluffing. Captain James Walker didn't do bluffing.
She snatched her designer purse off the back of her chair so hard she nearly knocked her wine glass over. "Fine! You're all crazy! Every single one of you!" She stormed down the hallway, her high heels clacking furiously against the floorboards.
The front door slammed shut so hard the wreath on the glass rattled.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Emma's cries had softened into ragged, trembling hiccups against my neck. I buried my face in her soft flannel onesie, tears finally bursting past my eyelids.
"James..." Mom started, her voice quivering with guilt and panic. "It’s Christmas... she's your sister-in-law..."
James turned his gaze toward my mother. There was no rage in his eyes—just a vast, chilling disappointment. "She put her hands on my daughter. And every single person at this table sat here and watched her do it."
Dad stood up, gesturing with open hands. "We were just in shock, James! You don't understand family dynamics—"
"I understand cowardice," James replied smoothly. He walked over, put a firm, warm hand on the small of my back, and gently kissed the top of Emma's head. "Pack your bags, Sarah. We're going home."
"James, please, don't leave!" Mom pleaded, rising from her chair, her hands wringing together. "We can fix this!"
I looked my mother dead in the eyes, my tears drying into pure, burning anger. "You watched her slap a six-month-old, Mom. You said nothing."
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Before Mom could answer, my phone on the table buzzed violently with an incoming text notification. I glanced down. It was a group text from Lauren to the entire family.
Enjoy your ruined Christmas. Tell James he better watch his back, because I’m calling Child Protective Services on BOTH of you for making false accusations.
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