Chapter 5 - The Fire
I lunged at the nursery door, pounding my fists against the solid wood until my knuckles bled.
"Let me out of here, Mark!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The baby monitor on the dresser crackled to life again, projecting his sinister, arrogant laughter.
"You should have just taken the blame and gone to prison quietly," he mocked.
"Diane and I needed you out of the way so we could claim the massive trust fund your late father left exclusively for his first grandchild."
The sickening truth of their entire plot finally made absolute, terrifying sense.
My father had despised Mark and intentionally structured his multi-million dollar estate to bypass my husband entirely.
By ensuring the baby was not biologically Mark's, Diane created a loophole to contest the will if I were convicted of child abuse.
"Where is my daughter?" I demanded, sobbing in pure desperation.
"She is perfectly safe with my mother on a private jet heading to a country without an extradition treaty," Mark taunted.
"And unfortunately, you are about to become the victim of a tragic, accidental house fire caused by your severe postpartum depression."
A thick, acrid smell of gasoline suddenly began pouring into the nursery through the ventilation vents.
I coughed violently, wrapping my shirt over my mouth and nose to filter the toxic fumes.
I heard the distinct, terrifying sound of a match striking against a rough surface in the hallway.
Bright orange flames immediately licked beneath the gap of the locked wooden door.
The smoke alarm in the ceiling began to shriek deafeningly as the room rapidly filled with thick, black smoke.
I grabbed the heavy wooden rocking chair and hurled it with all my strength at the nursery window.
The reinforced safety glass cracked but utterly refused to shatter.
I was completely trapped on the second floor of a burning house with the evidence that could save my daughter.
The intense heat began to blister my skin as the door started to splinter and give way to the inferno.
I grabbed a heavy metal lamp from the bedside table and struck the exact same spot on the cracked window.
The glass finally shattered outward, letting a rush of fresh oxygen feed the roaring flames behind me.
I climbed out onto the sloping shingle roof just as the nursery was completely engulfed in fire.
I slipped on the morning dew, sliding dangerously close to the steep edge of the roof.
I managed to grab the aluminum rain gutter, dangling perilously two stories above the concrete patio.
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I looked down and saw Mark standing in the backyard, calmly watching the house burn.
He raised a suppressed handgun, aiming it directly up at my chest.
