Chapter 1 - The Confession
Jean did not lower her eyes.
She looked at the sleeping baby in my arms with absolute disgust.
I waited for her to scream or cry.
I waited for the woman I married to explain this horrible nightmare.
Instead, she calmly picked up a rag and wiped oil paint from her slender fingers.
"You were supposed to work until six," she said quietly.
The coldness in her voice made my blood turn to ice.
She was not crazy.
She was not suffering from postpartum depression.
She was completely and utterly lucid.
"You sold our daughter," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.
Jean tossed the dirty rag onto the wooden floor.
"I secured our future," she corrected me without a single ounce of guilt.
She explained that the trash can in the park was an anonymous drop point.
The buyer was scheduled to pick Nivea up at four o'clock.
Because I came home early, I had ruined a two-million-dollar transaction.
I stepped backward toward the hallway, holding Nivea tightly against my chest.
"I am taking her to the police," I told her firmly.
Jean let out a soft, mocking laugh that echoed in the quiet living room.
She reached into the pocket of her paint-stained apron.
When her hand emerged, she was holding a heavy, black handgun.
She pointed the barrel directly at my heart.
"You are not taking my merchandise anywhere, Frank," she said coldly.
My mind raced wildly as I stared down the barrel of the weapon.
I had to protect my daughter at all costs.
I kicked the heavy wooden easel forward with all my strength.
The canvas crashed into Jean, knocking the gun from her grip.
I did not wait for her to recover.
May you like
I turned and sprinted out the front door into the fading afternoon light.
As I threw myself into my truck and slammed on the gas, the back window suddenly shattered.
