When I was nine, my stepfather slammed my hand in a drawer because I took a cookie before dinner. Two of my fingers swelled purple while he stood there yelling about “discipline.” The cookie was still on the floor beside my bare feet. I waited until he turned away, then kicked it under the refrigerator where I knew my mother would find the b/lood beside it.

The two men did not look like police officers, and they certainly did not look friendly.

One of them immediately moved to block the front door, slipping a heavy deadbolt into place.

The other man reached into his jacket, resting his hand on the dark handle of a weapon.

"David sent us to bring you and the boy home," the man said, his voice completely devoid of emotion.

The convenience store clerk finally realized what was happening and reached for the panic button under the counter.

The man drew a taser with lightning speed and fired it directly into the clerk's chest.

The clerk collapsed behind the register with a heavy thud, leaving us completely alone with our attackers.

Mom grabbed a heavy glass bottle of wine from the nearest display shelf and smashed it against the counter.

She held the jagged glass out like a knife, pushing me firmly behind her back.

"If you take one more step, I will put this in your throat," Mom snarled, her eyes burning with fierce protection.

The man just chuckled, pulling out a pair of heavy zip-ties from his pocket.

He lunged at Mom, trying to grab her arm, but she was faster than he anticipated.

She swung the broken bottle, slicing a deep gash across the man's forearm.

He yelled in pain, stumbling backward and knocking over a display of candy bars.

"Run to the back, Leo!" Mom screamed, throwing a heavy can of soup at the man blocking the door.

I sprinted down the narrow aisle, my bare feet slipping slightly on the polished floor.

I pushed through the swinging doors into the dark storage room, smelling stale beer and cardboard.

Mom burst through the doors right behind me, slamming them shut and dragging a heavy pallet of water bottles against them.

We could hear the men shouting and throwing their weight against the wood, splintering the frame.

Mom grabbed my good hand and pulled me toward the metal loading dock door at the back.

She threw the deadbolt and pushed the heavy door open, revealing the dark, rainy woods behind the station.

We ran into the freezing rain, the branches whipping violently against our faces.

I could barely breathe, the pain in my swollen fingers making me dizzy and nauseous.

We ran blindly for ten minutes until we stumbled upon an old, abandoned hunting cabin hidden in the brush.

Mom kicked the rotting door open, and we scrambled inside, hiding beneath the dusty floorboards.

We lay there in the pitch black, listening to the rain pounding heavily against the tin roof.

For a moment, I thought we had finally lost them in the darkness.

When my newborn 'passed away,' my mother-in-law leaned in and said

My Husband Left Me Alone in My Car While I Was in Labor

“You’re Dead When We Get Home,” He Snapped

Then, a bright flashlight beam cut through the cracks in the floorboards right above my face.

A heavy boot stepped onto the wood, directly over my chest.

Chapter 3 - The Men in the Dark