“My husband dragged me off the toilet by my hair while his mother stood there holding our newborn. I locked myself in the bathroom—then discovered they had removed my SIM card.” / Chapter 3 / 20

Chapter 3 - The Empty TrayCLICK.

I threw the brass lock into place just as Mark threw his entire body weight against the outside of the door.

The heavy wood shuddered violently.

"Open the damn door, Clara!" Mark yelled, his fists slamming against the upper panels.

I backed away from the door, my chest heaving, my lungs burning for air. I sank onto the cold bathroom tile, sliding down against the front of the marble sink. Blood was dripping from my nose, warm and metallic, splashing onto the white washcloth I was clutching.

My baby boy, Toby, was screaming against my chest, his tiny face bright red, his fists flailing in panic.

"Shh... shh, sweet boy... Mommy's here," I sobbed, wrapping my arms tight around him, shielding his head with my palm. "Mommy's got you. I've got you."

Outside, Mark slammed his palm against the door again. "Open it!"

I reached to my left. My smartphone was sitting on the edge of the counter where I had left it ten minutes earlier.

My trembling fingers swiped the screen open.

NO SERVICE.

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. The Wi-Fi was off. The cellular bar showed a hollow grey icon. I quickly dug my thumbnail into the tiny hole on the side of the casing and popped the SIM tray open.

It was empty.

Someone had pulled the tray, removed the card, and pushed the empty metal plastic back into place.

Evelyn had been in the bedroom while I was resting earlier that morning. She had sat beside my nightstand, folding laundry, speaking in that soft, soothing voice... while silently stealing my only connection to the outside world.

Panic threatened to choke me. But then, glowing at the bottom of the lock screen in bright white letters, I saw two words:

EMERGENCY CALL.

Even without a SIM card, federal law required any mobile device to connect to emergency dispatchers via whatever tower frequency was available.

I pressed it.

It rang once. Twice.

"911, what is the location of your emergency?"

I burst into quiet, desperate tears, leaning close to the speaker. "Please... help me," I whispered frantically, swallowing the blood in my throat. "My address is 414 Oakridge Lane. I'm locked inside my bathroom with my newborn baby. My husband dragged me by my hair... His mother is outside with him. Someone took my SIM card out of my phone."

"Is the door holding?" the female dispatcher asked instantly, her voice crisp, calm, and grounded.