Chapter 3 - The Witness in the Corner
Downstairs, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the deceptive calm of the nursery.
Clara was still sitting on the floor of the foyer, right where Adrian had struck her. Her cheek was swollen and burning a deep, angry crimson, matching the tear tracks that had dried into salt on her skin. She felt utterly hollowed out, as if her soul had been ripped out of her chest and tossed into the street.
The man she loved—the father of her child—had not only accused her of trying to murder their baby, but he had physically assaulted her without even asking for her side of the story.
He hit me, the thought echoed in her mind over and over again, refusing to compute. He didn't trust me.
As she sat there in the wreckage of her marriage, a soft pair of arms suddenly wrapped around her shoulders from behind.
Clara gasped, flinching instinctively, before looking up to see fourteen-year-old Olivia—Adrian’s younger sister from his first marriage, who lived with them full-time and viewed Clara as a mother figure. Olivia’s eyes were bloodshot and brimming with furious tears. Her hands were trembling as she held her smartphone tightly against her chest.
“Clara... oh, Clara, I am so, so sorry,” Olivia choked out, burying her face in Clara’s neck and sobbing softly. “He’s a monster. I can’t believe he did that to you. I hate him! I hate Vanessa!”
Clara gently stroked Olivia’s hair, her voice barely a dry rasp. “Shh, Livia... it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Just... go upstairs. Go to your room.”
“No! I’m not going anywhere!” Olivia pulled back, wiping her face fiercely with the back of her hand. She stared down at Clara with a look of fierce, unyielding determination that looked startlingly like Adrian—only without the blindness. “Clara, listen to me. You didn't do it. I know you didn't do it.”
“It doesn't matter what I did, Livia. Your dad made up his mind,” Clara whispered, her voice breaking. “He believes Vanessa.”
“Well, Dad is a blind idiot!” Olivia snapped, her voice rising before she checked herself, lowering it to a fierce whisper. She thrust her smartphone down in front of Clara’s face. “Because Vanessa is a lying, manipulative snake. And I have proof.”
Clara blinked, staring blankly at the glowing screen. “What... what is this?”
“Look at the video, Clara,” Olivia urged, tapping the screen to replay a file. “I was sitting on the living room sofa doing my history project on my tablet. The camera was propped up on the coffee table facing the hallway. It was recording the whole time.”
Clara’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes locked onto the small screen as the video began to play.
The frame showed the quiet living room opening up to the foyer. In the background, Clara could be seen sitting calmly on the sofa, reading a book. Then, Vanessa walked into the frame, her face twisting into a calculated, malicious sneer.
With chilling deliberation, Vanessa walked up to the baby stroller—which was parked safely near the wall—and violently shoved it forward, sending it careening toward the steep drop of the staircase.
As soon as the stroller began to roll, Vanessa threw her hands over her mouth and began screaming at the top of her lungs, playing the frantic victim.
At that exact second, the video showed Clara dropping her book, her face going pale with horror, as she sprinted like lightning across the room, diving desperately to grab the handle of the stroller just as it tipped over the edge, pulling it back and sweeping crying Emma into her arms to save her from certain death.
And right behind her, walking in from the kitchen with a glass of water, was Vanessa—who hadn't saved anyone, but had simply stood there watching the chaos she had engineered with a sick, satisfied grin before launching into her Oscar-worthy sobbing performance.
Clara stared at the screen, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst. The video played on a loop, the incontrovertible truth flashing before her eyes in high-definition color.
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“She... she tried to hurt Emma,” Clara whispered, horror washing over her as the full, demonic scale of Vanessa’s plot sank in. “She tried to hurt my baby just to frame me.”
“And then she manipulated Dad into hitting you and kicking you out,” Olivia added, her voice shaking with rage. She stood up, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white. “Come on, Clara. Get up. We are going upstairs right now. Dad is going to see this. And if he doesn't grovel at your feet and beg for forgiveness, I’m packing my bags and moving out with you.”
