“We’ll deal with this at home,” my mother whispered after my brother attacked me with a metal bat and left my arm badly injured—because Dad’s city council campaign mattered more than taking me to a hospital.

By 8:00 PM, the hospital floor had settled into a quiet, eerie stillness. The nurses checked my vitals, adjusted my antibiotic drip, and softly closed the door to my private room on the fourth floor.

I lay in the dim room, staring at the television mounted on the wall.

The local news was on. Suddenly, my father’s face flashed onto the screen.

It was a pre-recorded campaign commercial. He was standing on a sunny park lawn, wearing his signature navy suit, holding my mother’s hand.

"In these uncertain times," my father’s voice boomed warmly through the speaker, "we need leadership rooted in accountability, integrity, and strong family values. I’m Robert Parker, and I promise to protect your family the same way I protect my own."

I felt a sudden, violent wave of nausea. I reached for the remote with my left hand and clicked the screen off, plunging the room into darkness.

Strong family values.

Suddenly, the heavy metal handle of my hospital room door turned with a slow, clicking sound.

I turned my head, expecting to see the overnight nurse with my pain medication.

The door opened silently. A tall figure stepped into the room, slipping past the privacy curtain.

It was Marcus.

My heart stopped. My breath hitched in my lungs, freezing like ice water in my chest.

He was wearing a heavy dark hoodie with the hood pulled low over his eyes, hands shoved deep into his front pockets. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the IV stand, the heart monitor, and the massive plaster cast covering my right arm.

"Hey, Liv," Marcus said softly.

His voice wasn't angry. It was that terrifying, eerie calm he always had right before he snapped—the quiet before the tornado hit.

"Marcus..." I whispered, my fingers frantically searching under the blanket for the red nurse call button. "How... how did you get in here?"

"I walked up the fire stairs," Marcus said casually, stepping closer to the side of my bed. He didn't look remorseful. He looked annoyed, like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away. "Dad called me from the precinct. He said some bitch cop is looking for me."

My hand finally brushed against the plastic call button. I squeezed it with all my strength.

Marcus’s eyes flicked down to my left hand under the blanket. A slow, mocking smile spread across his handsome face.

"Don't bother, Liv," he murmured, taking another step forward, leaning his heavy hands on the metal bed rail, looming over me. "The nurses' station down the hall is empty right now. They're changing shifts."

"Get out," I gasped, trying to pull myself back against the pillows, but the cast weighed me down like an anchor. "Get away from me!"

"Look at you," Marcus sneered, his voice dropping into a low, venomous hiss. "Look at what you’re doing to this family. Dad worked five years for this election, Liv. Five years! And you're going to ruin it all because you couldn't take a little tough love?"

"A little tough love?" I cried out, my voice cracking with rage and fear. "You broke my arm in two places! You tried to hit my head!"

"You talked back to me!" Marcus snapped, his eyes flaring with that sudden, violent heat I knew all too well. "You disrespect me in my own house! You think you're better than me because you went to college and work at a stupid library?"

He reached out with his right hand and grabbed the heavy plaster cast on my arm, squeezing it tightly right over the fresh surgical incision.

"Aaargh!" I screamed, a brutal wave of agony searing through my nervous system.

"Listen to me, you little liar," Marcus growled, leaning his face inches from mine, his hot, stale breath smelling of cheap beer and tobacco. "When that cop comes back, you tell her you made it all up. You tell her you fell down the cellar stairs. If you don't..."

He tightened his grip on the cast, squeezing until I saw white spots behind my eyes.

"...I'll make sure the next time I swing, I don't miss."

"Hey!" a sharp, thunderous voice roared from the doorway.

The door flew open. Detective Evelyn Cruz stood in the frame, her hand resting firmly on the grip of her service weapon. Behind her stood two uniformed police officers.

"Get your hands off her right now!" Cruz commanded, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

Marcus froze. He slowly let go of my cast, raising his hands into the air, that charming, polite smile instantly sliding back onto his face like a mask.

"Officer, there’s a mistake," Marcus said smoothly, taking a step back. "I’m just visiting my sister. We were just talking—"

"Marcus Parker," Detective Cruz said, stepping into the room with her handcuffs drawn. "You are under arrest for felony assault with a deadly weapon, domestic violence, and witness intimidation. Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

Marcus’s polite expression vanished, replaced by a ugly, raging scowl. "You can't arrest me! My dad is Robert Parker! Do you know who my dad is?!"

"I don't care if your dad is the President of the United States," Detective Cruz said coldly, grabbing Marcus’s wrist and twisting it sharply behind his back, clicking the steel cuffs tightly around his wrists. "You're going to jail."

As the two uniformed officers dragged Marcus backward out of the room, yelling and cursing at the top of his lungs, Detective Cruz walked over to my bed.

She looked down at me, her eyes filled with deep sympathy and fierce pride.

"You held out long enough for us to track him, Olivia," Cruz said softly, reaching out to check my vitals. "It's over now. He's in custody."