Chapter 3

I thought back to the flowerpot incident and confront Susan.

If she wanted Scott so badly, knocking me out of the picture made perfect sense.

Susan sneered. "Don't even start blaming me. I was at a training course yesterday, nowhere near that street."

She was an elementary school teacher and swore she'd been at a school-organized workshop. I'd already checked with the school—it all lined up.

Her alibi held. The training was far from where the flowerpot fell. So, if it wasn't her, then who?

Meanwhile, Scott and I were stuck at home recovering—me focusing on my pregnancy, and him healing from the burns. To make things easier, Margaret and Joseph had moved in.

Today, Scott and I had a follow-up at the hospital. We left early, driving off in our car.

The engine hummed like normal as we pulled out. Nothing felt off.

Then Scott glanced at me, his fingers brushing the scar on his face. "Lacey," he said, "I don't think I deserve you anymore."

A wave of sadness hit me. "Don't say that. Don't even think it."

Scott and I went way back—college classmates. He was the polite, down-to-earth senior I'd crushed on from day one. After he struck out with the campus hottie, I finally confessed how I felt.

Out of all the girls who wanted him, he picked me.

"You're special," he'd said.

We survived four years of college, built a steady marriage, and were gearing up to start a family.

Now, as we approached a busy intersection, the chaos of rush hour swirled around us. The light turned red, and I moved to hit the brakes.

Nothing.

The pedal sank to the floor, but the car didn't slow down.

"What's happening?" I gasped, stomping harder. Still no response.

The car kept rolling.

No time to think, no time to stop. We were heading straight for the car ahead.

Panicked, I yanked the wheel, aiming for the planter boxes on the side.

Crash.

The car slammed into the vehicle ahead.

From the moment I realized the brakes were gone to the moment we hit, it was over in seconds. Too fast to process, too fast to react.

The windshield exploded with a shattering crack, glass raining everywhere. My body lunged forward, the seatbelt snapping me back like a whip.

My head slammed into the dashboard. Glass bit into my skin, and blood trickled down my face, hot and relentless.

Everything blurred, darkened. Everything blurred, darkened.

Around me, chaos broke loose—panicked voices, angry shouting from the driver I'd hit.

But one thought cut through the haze: someone had messed with the brakes. Whoever it was wasn't done trying to kill me.

Blood dripped into my eyes. The noise faded. Then, nothing.

...

When I came to, the sharp smell of disinfectant hit me. The hospital. Familiar and grounding.

My hand shot to my belly.

The baby—was the baby okay?

Scott sat beside me, gripping my hand. "Don't worry," he said softly. "The baby's fine."

Relief hit me like a wave, and I let out a shaky breath.

Scott didn't look as bad as I felt. His injuries were lighter, and he'd been awake long enough to stay by my side.

I clung to his hand, my voice trembling. "Someone's trying to kill me. The brakes didn't fail by accident—I know they didn't."

I wasn't sure who to trust anymore, but Scott? I trusted him. He'd never hurt me, and he cared about our baby even more than I did.

When I brought up the flowerpot before, he'd dismissed it as paranoia. But this? He couldn't deny it now. He was there. He felt it too.

Scott pulled me close, his arms steady as he patted my back. "Don't worry. We'll figure this out. I'm with you."

...

After a few days in the hospital, I couldn't stand it anymore. I pushed to be discharged.

The doctors called us lucky. My forehead wound was the worst of it, but everything else—just minor injuries.

The car wasn't so lucky. It was totaled, the front end crushed beyond saving. When the mechanic checked it out, my worst fear was confirmed: someone had tampered with the brakes.

Only Scott and I ever drove that car. He used it for work, and I took it for errands sometimes.

Whoever did this had to know I'd be the one driving that day.

It could only be someone from our household.