There was no warmth in his eyes. No love. Just a cold, calculating emptiness that I had never seen before. “I know,” he said softly. Before my brain could even process the shift in his tone, his hands were on my shoulders. He pushed me.

Hard. The snow was loud enough to swallow my scream as my feet slipped off the icy edge. One second I was looking at my husband; the next, I was falling backward off Blackthorn Cliff, my fingers clawing helplessly at empty air. I hit something hard, the breath exploding from my lungs in a violent rush.

Pain burst through my ribs, my cheek, and my belly. I hadn’t hit the bottom of the ravine. By some miracle, I had landed on a wide, snow-packed ledge about twenty feet down. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I lay there, paralyzed by agony, tasting a metallic mix of blood and ice.

Above me, Victor’s shadow leaned over the cliff. He didn’t sound panicked. He sounded victorious. “Don’t worry, Elena,” he called down, his voice bright with a sickening cruelty. “The baby won’t suffer long.” I saw him pull his phone out, leaning over to record the “accident scene” for whatever police report he was already drafting in his head.

Instinct took over. I squeezed my eyes shut, held my breath, and let my body go completely limp in the snow. I lay there in agonizing silence for what felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes. Finally, I heard the crunch of his boots walking away.

I was alone on a freezing ledge, nine months pregnant, with a suspected broken rib. But as I lay there, I felt a strong, aggressive kick against my ribs from the inside.

My baby was alive. And that meant I had to live, too. It took every ounce of strength I had to drag myself along the ledge toward a slope of jagged rocks.

I crawled for nearly an hour, my hands numb and bleeding, until I reached the main hiking trail. By the time a group of winter hikers found me, I was borderline hypothermic. They rushed me to the local hospital, where doctors confirmed my baby’s heart rate was strong, though my own body was battered.

The police were called, but I refused to give a statement to the local precinct. I knew Victor was smart. If he got wind that I was alive before I was fully protected, he might come to the hospital to finish the job. Instead, I asked for a private phone.

I dialed a number I hadn’t called in three years.