Chapter 3 - Poison in the WellI stared at the screen, my blood turning to liquid fire. "She's threatening CPS?"
James glanced over my shoulder, taking in the message with a dark, grim nod. "She's trying to get ahead of the story. Standard tactic for people who know they're in the wrong."
"We need to leave. Right now," I said, clutching Emma tighter.
Dad stepped forward, his face flushed. "Sarah, listen to me. If you walk out that door right now, you split this family in half permanently. Lauren was wrong, yes! But calling the cops? Threatening CPS? You guys are blowing this way out of proportion!"
"Blowing it out of proportion?" I hissed, turning on my father. "Dad, she hit a baby! If a stranger did that in a supermarket, you'd want them arrested!"
"She's not a stranger, she's your sister!" Mom cried, tears streaming down her face. "Family forgives! That's what we do!"
"Family protects each other," James corrected sternly. "And right now, Sarah and Emma are not safe around Lauren. Nor are they supported here."
Without another word, James grabbed our overnight bags from the guest bedroom. Five minutes later, we were in our SUV, the cold winter air whipping through the driveway as James pulled out into the dark night.
The drive home was silent except for the soft hum of the heater and Emma’s faint, exhausted sighs from her car seat. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"She's going to make our lives hell, James," I whispered, looking out the passenger window at the passing streetlights. "Lauren never lets anything go. If she feels humiliated, she destroys things."
"Let her try," James said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I've dealt with real threats overseas, Sarah. A bitter, spoiled narcissist isn't going to shake this family."
When we arrived home, James locked every door, set the security alarm, and insisted on putting Emma down himself. I stood in the doorway of the nursery, watching this hardened military officer tenderly tuck our daughter into her crib, whispering soft words until her eyes finally fluttered closed.
Around 11:00 PM, my phone rang. It was an unknown number.
I hesitated, then swiped to answer. "Hello?"
"You think you won, don't you?" Lauren's voice dripped with poisonous venom over the receiver. "You think bringing your military meathead home makes you untouchable?"
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"Lauren, do not call this number again," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.
"I've already sent emails to James's commanding officer," Lauren cackled softly. "Claiming he threatened a civilian with physical violence tonight. Let's see how his pristine military career handles a court-martial, big sister."
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