My husband strapped me to a rocking chair while pregnant because his mother wanted me to soothe his sister’s screaming twins for the entire night. His father removed my back brace, and his brother locked the nursery. Blood from my injured shoulder stained the baby blanket. At dawn, they brought in a third crib and said my own child would soon join the schedule.

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic, cold tea, and fresh linen—a clean, sharp environment that felt entirely removed from the stale formula and dust of the nursery.

I lay on my side, supported by four high-density foam pillows that kept my lower spine completely immobilized. An IV line ran into the back of my left hand, delivering a steady drip of muscle relaxants and fluids.

A woman sat in the vinyl armchair near the window. She wasn't a doctor. She wore a tailored charcoal suit and held a thick manila folder across her knees. Her name was Detective Sarah Lin, Special Victims Unit.

"Your brother-in-law, David, is currently giving a statement at the precinct," Lin said softly, clicking her pen. "He's terrified. He's nineteen, and his father told him that what they were doing was legal under 'family authority' laws. He's talking."

I stared at the white curtain hanging between my bed and the door. "What about Marcus?"

"Your husband is maintaining that you agreed to stay in the chair to help with his sister's twins, and that the straps were applied with your consent because you were 'restless' and insisted on helping despite your back injury."

A small, bitter laugh caught in my throat, turning into a cough that sent a ripple of pain down my spine. "I consented to being tied up for nine hours?"

"He claims you were having a panic attack," Lin said flatly. "He claims he was acting out of concern for the baby."

She opened the folder, revealing a series of high-resolution color photographs. I didn't need to look at them closely to recognize what they were: the purple, angry bruises encircling my wrists; the jagged, bloody abrasion along my left clavicle; the severed leather belts; and the white wooden crib with my back brace draped over the top rail.

"Your sister-in-law, Clara, gave a full deposition three hours ago," Lin continued. "She brought the twins to the county emergency room. They're both suffering from severe dehydration and ear infections. She told us everything—the locked doors, the schedule her mother drew up on the kitchen whiteboard, the plan for your baby."

I closed my eyes. "Where is Clara now?"

"In a safe house with the children. Her ex-husband's family provided a lawyer for her. She's not going back to that house, Maya."

The door opened softly, and a nurse stepped in, carrying an ultrasound machine mounted on a rolling metal cart. "Time to check on the small occupant," she said with a gentle smile, squeezing a cold tube of blue gel onto her palm.

Lin stood up, moving toward the window to give us privacy.

As the plastic transducer pressed against my abdomen, the room filled with the rapid, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of a tiny heart beating at one hundred and forty beats per minute.

I reached out and took the nurse's sleeve, my knuckles going white.

"It's strong," the nurse murmured, adjusting the screen so I could see the flickering gray outline on the monitor. "Baby is fine, Maya. Placenta is intact. No signs of distress."

I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding since midnight.

"Can I ask you something?" I whispered to Detective Lin over the sound of the heart monitor.

Lin turned. "Anything."

"The brace," I said. "My back brace. Where is it?"