Chapter 8: The Escape Hatch
The arrival of backup officers created immediate chaos in the upscale nursery. While Detective Vance attempted to sort through the conflicting statements and Beatrice’s smooth legal maneuvering, Ethan seized the moment of distraction. He grabbed Clara’s hand, locking eyes with her in a silent pact. There was no time to argue with the police or wait for the sluggish gears of justice to turn. If they stayed in this house under Beatrice’s thumb, his mother would find a legal loophole to bury them both.
“Clara, we’re leaving. Now,” Ethan whispered urgently, pulling her toward the large French doors that led out onto the second-floor sun balcony.
“Ethan, the police—they’ll stop us,” Clara protested, her breath hitching as she looked back toward the cluster of uniformed officers engaged in a heated discussion with Beatrice.
“They won’t catch us if we don’t use the stairs,” Ethan replied, his voice resolute.
Without waiting for agreement, he pushed open the glass balcony doors. The cool night air rushed in, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine from the gardens below. The sun balcony wrapped around the western wing of the mansion, overlooking an old stone trellis covered in thick ivy. Growing up as a reckless teenager, Ethan had scaled that exact trellis dozens of times to sneak out of the house. Though years had passed, the sturdy wooden framework looked as reliable as ever.
Clara hesitated at the threshold, looking down at the ground two stories below, but the sound of Beatrice’s sharp voice rising above the officers’ chatter pushed her forward. “Find them! They cannot leave this property!”
“Trust me,” Ethan urged, gently guiding her through the doors. He stripped off his beige button-down shirt, wrapping it securely around Clara’s bare shoulders to shield her from the chilly night wind, leaving himself in a thin undershirt.
Working with practiced speed, Ethan climbed over the ornate wrought-iron railing of the balcony, testing the top of the ivy-covered trellis with his boot. It held firm against his weight. He reached back up, taking Clara’s hands and guiding her carefully over the ledge.
“Put your feet here, hold onto my shoulders, and don't look down,” Ethan instructed calmly, his voice a steady anchor in the swirling storm of adrenaline.
Clara nodded, biting her lower lip as she stepped onto the narrow wooden slats of the trellis. Together, they began the slow, agonizing descent down the side of the grand mansion. Every muscle in Ethan’s body screamed in protest, but the primal urge to protect his wife and unborn child fueled his every movement. Above them, a door slammed open onto the balcony, followed by Detective Vance’s booming voice ordering them to halt.
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“Mr. Sterling! Come back inside immediately!”
Ethan ignored the command, leaping the final few feet from the lower trellis onto the soft mulch of the garden bed below. He caught Clara as she dropped down beside him, breaking her fall and shielding her from the sharp briars of the rose bushes. Without pausing to catch their breath, they broke into a sprint, plunging into the dark, labyrinthine hedges of the estate's sprawling back gardens.
