A Christmas Eve Nightmare

It was the eve of my due date, and my husband’s nemesis had broken into our house for revenge. I was sliced open, my baby ripped from my womb. And yet, I refused to call my husband, Mark, for help.

Last time, in my frantic, terrified pleas, he’d abandoned his charity student, Wendy, who he was supposed to spend Christmas with, just to rush home. Wendy ended up dead, a victim of a date rape drug overdose after being picked up at a bar that night. Then Mark, fueled by rage, had locked me in the dog kennel, letting the animals tear me apart. “You killed Wendy!” he'd screamed. "Now you'll feel her pain!"

Now, back in this moment, I decided he could enjoy his romantic Christmas Eve with Wendy. But when he came home, he'd completely lost it.

…

I woke up in a cold sweat, a gasp escaping my lips as I checked the date on my phone. The downstairs was pitch black, but I could hear the faintest rustling. I was about to lock the bedroom door when our housekeeper, Betty, boomed out.

“Honey, I made you some chicken soup. You drink that before bed, okay?” She practically forced the door open, squeezing her way in. “Mark said you’ve been picky lately. He told me to keep an eye on you, so you better listen up.”

Her usual, folksy smile sent chills down my spine. Last time, the chicken soup Betty had given me had knocked me out cold. I’d woken up on the floor, my husband's rival, Tony, standing over me while talking on the phone, Betty nowhere in sight. I had barely made it to the bathroom, locked the door and frantically dialed Mark from my smart watch.

But this time, I wasn't going to be a sitting duck.

Betty stood in the doorway, not letting up until I drank the soup. Ten months pregnant, I wasn't about to get into a physical fight with her. "Betty, my stomach's upset. Just leave it there, okay?"

She turned and left, and I was unlocking my phone to call 911. Betty’s face appeared in the doorway, contorted in anger. She snatched my phone, her eyebrows furrowed. “Who are you calling?” she snarled. “Planning to tattle to Mark and make him come home?”

“He’s hosting a Christmas Eve party for Wendy, so you should be a good little girl and not make a scene!” She threw my phone from the balcony, and I automatically knew Betty was up to no good. Grabbing her wrist, I knew I needed to play it smart.

“Betty, someone broke in. Give me your phone, I need to call the cops.”

Betty’s expression flickered, and she forced a smile. “Don't be silly, the place is wired with security cameras. No one's broken in.” She then grabbed my shoulders and started pushing me toward the stairs, ignoring how I was cradling my bump.

I hadn’t managed to put on my smartwatch, and could only desperately try to warn her. "Betty, don't go downstairs! I'm the homeowner, you need to listen to me!"

At that, her lips curved into a sinister smile. "Mark is the owner of this place, and I’m bringing you downstairs so you can calm down. Or, maybe you're just trying to bring Mark home. Wendy may b...