Chapter 3: The Empty Driveway
The cool night air hit Clara’s flushed skin as she sprinted down the paved driveway, abandoning any thought of returning inside. Her sneakers crunched on the gravel near the oversized double garage. Mark's sedan was parked inside with the automatic door closed, but her own compact car sat out in the open, its windshield speckled with autumn leaves. She approached the driver's side door, her hands shaking so violently she dropped the spare key fob she always kept hidden in her scrub pocket.
It bounced off the asphalt with a sharp metallic clatter. Dropping to her knees—careful to protect her protruding belly—she swept her hands frantically across the cold ground until her fingers brushed the plastic casing. Behind her, the front door clicked open.
"Clara! Get back inside this instant!" Mark’s voice cut through the stillness of the neighborhood. He had managed to stand upright, though he was leaning heavily against the brick exterior of the house, clutching a bloodied handkerchief to his head. Evelyn stood right beside him, her silhouette framed by the bright light of the entryway.
Clara scrambled to her feet, unlocked the car door, and yanked it open. She slid into the driver's seat, pulling the door shut with a heavy thud. She jammed the key fob into the ignition and pressed the push-start button. The dashboard illuminated in a wash of blue and white light, the engine coughing once before purring to life. Through the rearview mirror, she watched Mark stumble down the driveway toward her, his face twisted in fury. He slammed his open palm against her rear window, leaving a greasy smudge on the glass.
Clara threw the car into reverse, gripping the steering wheel tightly. She pressed the accelerator gently, backing out of the driveway while keeping her eyes locked on the mirrors. Mark jumped out of the way just in time, shouting obscenities that were muffled by the closed windows.
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As she shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb, a profound sense of isolation washed over her. She was twenty-eight weeks pregnant, fleeing her home with nothing more than her scrubs and her smartphone, and heading into a dark city with a depleted bank account and a dangerous adversary. Yet, beneath the fear, a hard core of resilience began to form. She was a nurse; she knew how to handle emergencies. And this was the ultimate emergency of her life.
She drove toward the town center, her headlights cutting through the dense fog rolling in from the river. Her destination wasn't her apartment or a hotel; it was the hospital where she worked. St. Jude Memorial was open twenty-four hours a day, offering a sanctuary of bright lights, security guards, and colleagues who trusted her.
