THE PUSH

The courthouse steps were built to make people feel small.

Tall white stone columns rose against the bright afternoon sky. Heavy front doors stood open behind suited attorneys, anxious witnesses, and wealthy families who had come to settle private disasters in public rooms. The wide marble steps gleamed under the sun, too polished and formal for the violence about to happen on them.

Emily Carter stood near the upper-middle steps with one hand resting protectively below her eight-month pregnant belly.

She wore a dark navy maternity dress and low shoes chosen because stairs had become difficult lately. Her blonde hair was pulled back, though loose strands had escaped around her tired face. She looked exhausted, frightened, and determined not to collapse before the hearing even began.

Across from her stood Vivian Shaw.

Vivian was early thirties, polished, pale, and cold in a light gray fitted dress and heels that clicked sharply against the stone. Her styled hair did not move in the breeze. Her expression carried the arrogance of a woman who had spent months believing she could replace a wife if she stood close enough to the husband.

“You don’t belong here,” Vivian said.

Emily’s lips parted. “This is my marriage. My child. My case.”

Vivian stepped closer.

Below them, Daniel Carter turned at the sound of his wife’s voice. He was in a black suit, white shirt, dark tie, clean-cut and tense from weeks of legal war. He saw Vivian’s hands rise.

“Emily!”

Too late.

Vivian shoved Emily hard with both hands into her upper body and shoulder.

The push was sudden, deliberate, unmistakable.

Emily’s face went blank with shock. One hand flew toward her belly as her balance broke. Her heel slipped on the stone step. Her body jerked backward.

For one terrible second, the world seemed to hold her in the air.

Then she fell.

Gasps erupted as Emily tumbled down the white stone steps in a frightening but non-graphic fall. Bystanders recoiled. Two people at the bottom stumbled back as she landed near their feet on the marble landing.

She lay stunned, breathing shallowly.

A small dark red stain appeared briefly on the stone near her dress, not large, not graphic, but enough to turn the air cold.

Daniel rushed down the steps.

He dropped to his knees beside her, one hand beneath her shoulder, the other near her upper arm, careful and shaking.

“Stay with me!” he cried.

Emily’s eyes fluttered open.

Weak.

Terrified.

Still alive.

Daniel looked from her face to the top of the stairs.

Vivian stood above, frozen near the railing, hands half-raised, face drained of color.

In that instant, Daniel understood.