Blood On The Marble

Imani's POV

The sun was high when I turned onto our driveway. Four hours of work, and my back was screaming. But I didn't care. The new blend was perfect. I could already taste it—that dark cherry finish with just a hint of vanilla. My dad always says I have a gift. The wine sings when you touch it, he tells me.

I smiled, thinking about him. He taught me everything I knew about wine.

I wiped my hands on my jeans. Purple stains. They never come out. I stopped trying years ago.

Yara would be inside. My six-year-old. She's probably watching cartoons. And Roy. God, I couldn't wait to see my Roy.

I slowed the car near our gate.

There was a woman standing there.

She wore all black. A wide black hat. Long dress. She looked like she was waiting for something. Or someone. She stood so still. I thought she was a statue at first.

Then she saw my car.

She lifted her hand. Covered her face. Turned and walked fast to a red Mercedes-Benz parked on the side of the road.

No license plate. I noticed that.

I got out. "Hey. Can I help you?"

She started the car. Tires kicked up dust. She was gone.

I stood there for a second. Who was that? Why did she run off like that? It's so weird.

I grabbed my bag and walked to the house.

***

The front door was unlocked.

I registered that distantly, already stepping inside, already opening my mouth to call out Yara's name, and then I looked down.

The world stopped.

She was at the foot of the staircase. My daughter. My six-year-old, my heartbeat, my entire world compressed into one small still body — crumpled at the bottom of those long descending stairs with her cheek against the marble and blood spreading dark and slow beneath her head.

The sound that came out of me had no shape.

I was on my knees before I knew I'd moved, blood soaking through my dress at both knees, my hands going to her face and then her neck and then her wrist because I needed a pulse I needed to find it.

"Yara. Baby. Open your eyes. Please. YARA."

Nothing.

Just that breathing. That terrible wet breathing.

I pulled out my phone. My fingers shook so bad that I almost dropped it.

For some reasons only I could understand, I immediately called the one person who came to my mind first.

Ingrid. My twin sister.

She picked up on the second ring.

"Imani?"

"Ingrid... Yara." I said. That's all I could get out.

A pause.

"Is she still alive? Is she breathing?"

The question hit me weird, but I didn't have time to think about it.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, she's breathing. But there's blood. There is so much blood. I came home, and she was—"

"Call 911. Now. Get her to the hospital. I'm coming."

She hung up.

I stared at my phone.

Why didn't I call 911 first?

***

The hospital waiting room.

I sat in a hard plastic chair. My hands still had Yara's blood on them. My shirt, too. Nobody had given me anything to wipe it off.

The doctor came out forty minutes ago. He used big words. But what he meant was that Yara hit her head. Hard. She's in a coma. We don't know when she'll wake up.

I stopped listening after that.

I called Roy six times. Sent six texts. Nothing.

Where was he?

The doors opened.

Ingrid ran toward me. Black leggings. Red sweater. Her face was pale. Her eyes were wet.

She grabbed me. Hugged me tight. And I finally broke.

"God... Ingrid. What took you so long?"

I cried into her shoulder. Loud ugly sobs that hurt my chest.

"I'm here." Ingrid said.

"I found her on the floor," I said. "At the bottom of the stairs. So much blood, Ingrid."

"Shh. You got her here. She's alive."

"The doctor said coma. What if she doesn't—"

"She will." Ingrid pulled back and held my shoulders. Looked me right in the eyes. "Yara is tough. Like you."

I nodded. But I didn't believe her.

"I don't understand," I said. "Roy was supposed to be with her. This morning, I left her in his care. But he wasn't home."

Ingrid's face changed. Just for a second. "Where is Roy now?"

"I don't know. He's not—"

The main doors opened.

Roy.

His tie was loose. His shirt untucked. His hair was messy like he'd been pulling on it.

He saw me and his whole face relaxed.

"Baby." He came fast and pulled me up. Wrapped his arms around me. He smelled like coffee. "I came as soon as I heard. Is she okay?"

I held onto him. "She's in a coma. They don't know when she'll wake up."

He kissed my head. "She's going to be okay. She's our girl."

Ingrid's voice came from behind him. Soft. But sharp. "Where were you, Roy?"

He frowned. "I was at the airport. Imani knew that."

I pulled back. "No. I left Yara with you. You said you weren't going out until one o'clock."

Roy stared at me. "Vincenzo cancelled his flight for one o'clock. Don't you remember? Vincenzo from Tuscany. His flight landed at nine-thirty. I had to pick him up."

My heart started beating faster. "No. I heard you. I heard you in the house this morning. You said, 'Yara baby, come watch Bluey with me.'"

Roy went still. His jaw tightened. "Imani. I left at eight-thirty. I haven't been home since."

"What?... I left at eight o'clock. You know I always leave at eight o'clock on Saturdays."

He stared at me like I was a toddler speaking gibberish. "Baby... but you said you were not going to the winery today."

I don't remember saying that. I shook my head. "You misheard."

The room got quiet.

"How could you both not know each other's schedule?" Ingrid said. Her voice was loud now. "How could you leave her alone?"

Roy put his arm around me again. "We'll figure this out. Let's focus on Yara's recovery."

"Hello, are you Yara's parents?"

A cop stood at the door. Older guy. Kind face. Another cop behind him with a notepad.

Roy stepped forward. "Of course. I'm Roy Reginald. This is my wife."

"I'm Detective Gerald. I need to ask you some questions."

I wiped my face.

The detective looked at his partner. That look made my stomach drop.

"Mrs. Reginald," he said slowly. "Your daughter's injuries don't look like a fall."

The lights buzzed overhead.

"We believe," he said, "that Yara was pushed."