“You have had some time to think about what you did,” Russell said, his voice fast and sharp. “The guests are arriving upstairs, and I will not have my reputation ruined by your childish outbursts.”
“Russell, look at the security cameras,” I said, keeping my voice calm and low. “Just check the hallway feed from three o’clock.”
Gwendolyn let out a soft, trembling sob, hiding face against Russell’s shoulder.
“She is trying to blame me again, Russell,” Gwendolyn said, her voice high-pitched and babyish. “She wants to make me look like a liar when she knows her daughter ruined my dress.”
“There is no need to check any cameras,” Russell snapped, interrupting me before I could speak. “I know Gwendolyn, and I know the malice you have carried in this house since the day we married.”
He refused to even consider the possibility of Gwendolyn’s deceit, his blind trust in her shielding her from any accountability. He had always taken her side, but locking his own wife and daughter in a basement was a new depth of cruelty.
“She is lying, Russell,” I said, my voice steady despite the anger tightening in my chest. “If you would just look at the footage, you would see the truth.”
“I have had enough of your accusations, Heather,” Russell said, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. “You will stay in this room until you learn how to apologize properly.”
The threat hung in the damp air, heavy and suffocating. He actually believed he could keep us down here until I broke.
“You are being mean,” Phoebe said, her quiet whisper cutting through the room.
She stood up, dropping her stuffed rabbit onto the concrete floor. Before I could catch her with my bound hands, she began to run toward me, her eyes fixed on my face.
“Phoebe, stop,” I called out, reaching forward with my restricted arms.
A young guard in a dark suit stood near the bottom of the stairs, his eyes darting between Russell and the floor. He made a small motion to step forward but stopped when Russell raised a hand, ordering him to stay back.
Phoebe’s shoe caught the edge of the frayed rug near the center of the room. She stumbled, her arms flailing as she tried to regain her balance in the dim light.
The heavy oak library table sat just inches away, its carved claw feet solid against the floor. It was an antique piece Russell had insisted on moving down here to make room for Gwendolyn’s new furniture upstairs.
Phoebe fell sideways, her forehead striking the sharp, square corner of the antique table with a dull thud.
The basement went completely silent for a single, agonizing second.
Then, Phoebe let out a sharp cry, her hands flying to her head as she curled onto her side on the concrete.
I scrambled forward on my knees, ignoring the pain in my shins as I reached her. A dark, thick line of blood began to seep from a deep cut just above her right eyebrow, pooling quickly on the dusty floor.
“Russell, she is bleeding,” I said, my voice rising for the first time. “Get a doctor down here right now.”
The guard took a step toward us, his hand reaching for his pocket.
“Sir, should I call the house physician?” the guard asked, his voice hesitant as he looked at the blood.
