THE NIGHT EVERYTHING BROKE

**Chapter 14**

**The Night Everything Broke**

Weeks had passed since the hospital.

The embryo inside her was still fragile, still barely more than a secret cluster of cells, but it was there. Real. Growing in the dark while she carried the knowledge alone. Eliana had told no one. Not Josh. Not Richard. Not Sarah. Not Chloe or Maya. The secret sat in her chest like a second heartbeat she could never ignore.

She had withdrawn completely.

The days blurred into one long, gray silence. She stayed in her room with the curtains drawn, phone face-down on the nightstand, lights off. Sarah knocked every morning and every evening, voice soft with worry.

“Ellie? Baby, please open the door. Just talk to me.”

Richard knocked too, later in the day, his voice lower, controlled but edged with something that almost sounded like concern.

“Eliana. You need to eat. At least let me know you’re all right.”

She never answered.

Josh had been gone for most of those weeks—away at a friend’s place, or so Sarah had said. Eliana was almost grateful. The thought of facing either of them while the truth lived inside her felt impossible. She only left her room in the dead of night, moving like a ghost through the quiet house to take a few bites of whatever was in the fridge and a glass of water before retreating again. She ate barely enough to keep the worst of the nausea at bay. She felt hollow. Useless. Some nights the weight of it pressed so hard she wondered if it would be easier if the pregnancy simply… stopped. The thought terrified her even as it whispered through her mind.

Tonight was different only in that the thirst had woken her more sharply than usual.

She slipped out of bed in an old, loose nightgown, barefoot, and went downstairs in the dark. The kitchen was silver with moonlight coming through the window over the sink. She filled a glass, drank half of it in slow swallows, and set it down.

The front door slammed open so hard the frame rattled.

Eliana spun around.

Josh stood in the doorway to the kitchen, backlit by the hall light. He was still in the clothes he must have gone out in—dark jeans, a wrinkled shirt half-unbuttoned. His dark hair was messy. His gray eyes were glassy and unfocused. The sharp smell of alcohol rolled off him in a wave.

“Josh?” she said carefully, keeping her voice calm even as her pulse spiked.

He stepped inside, swaying slightly, and pushed the door shut behind him with the same violent force. “Where the fuck have you been?”

The words were slurred but loud. He looked her up and down, lip curling.

“Hiding in your little room like a whore who got caught,” he said. “That’s what you’ve been doing, right? Playing sick so you don’t have to look at any of us.”

Anger flared hot under the fear. “Don’t call me that.”

She turned to leave, already moving toward the stairs. She made it two steps before his hand closed hard around her upper arm and yanked her back. Her back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Josh crowded in immediately, one hand slamming beside her head, the other gripping her waist.

“Come here, hoe,” he snarled.

She gasped. “What are you doing, Jo—”

His hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the rest of the word. The other arm banded around her waist and hauled her against him. She could feel how hard he already was through his jeans. There was no heat in it for her this time. No reluctant spark of desire. Only cold, sharp terror and the sick knowledge of what was growing inside her.

She tried to push him away. Her arms felt weak, disconnected. The shock had stolen her strength.

“You’re fucking my dad, huh?” Josh’s voice was raw and vicious against her ear. “You think he’s better than me? You let him touch you and then you hide up there like you’re too good for the rest of us?”

She shook her head frantically under his hand, tears already burning.

“I’ll show you,” he said.

He tore the nightgown at the shoulder with one hard pull. The thin fabric ripped down, exposing her breast to the cool kitchen air. She made a desperate sound against his palm. He finally let go of her mouth only long enough for her to suck in a shaking breath and start pleading.

“Josh, stop—please, don’t—I’m sorry, just listen—”

He wasn’t listening.

He spun her around and shoved her forward until her hips hit the edge of the kitchen counter. One hand in the middle of her back pinned her there, bending her over. The other yanked the rest of the nightgown up around her waist. She heard the sound of his zipper. Then the blunt, hard head of his cock was pushing against her, dry and ruthless.

He thrust in with one violent stroke.

The pain was immediate and white-hot. She cried out, the sound sharp and broken. There was no preparation, no wetness, nothing but the brutal stretch and the sickening sense of being invaded. He pulled back and slammed in again. The second thrust was the same pure pain.

The third was different.

Something tore.

Eliana’s scream ripped out of her so loudly it felt like it came from the center of her bones—high, raw, and long enough that it should have woken every house on the block. The pain was no longer just from the forced entry. It was deeper, cramping, wrong. Wet heat flooded down the insides of her thighs.

Josh froze.

The sound of her scream seemed to cut through the alcohol. He pulled out of her so fast she nearly collapsed without his body holding her up. She slid down the front of the cabinets to the floor, legs folding under her. When she looked down, there was blood—dark, unmistakable—smeared across her thighs and the torn hem of her nightgown.

Josh stared at himself, at the blood on his cock, at her crumpled on the tile. The color drained from his face.

“Ellie—fuck—Ellie—”

She couldn’t answer. The edges of her vision were already graying. The last thing she heard before the darkness took her was Josh’s voice, raw with panic, shouting up the stairs.

“Richard! Sarah! Somebody—help—!”

Then everything went black.