Chapter 6
The immediate aftermath of the slap left the dining room in a state of paralyzed hysteria. The Bennett relatives, usually so composed and obsessed with maintaining their pristine, upper-middle-class American image, were completely unmoored. Uncle Richard was clutching his chest, his fair face turning an alarming shade of purple, while Aunt Susan was sobbing hysterically into her linen napkin.
On the hallway floor, Margaret slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. The brilliant, cinematic light from the bay windows caught the sheer venom radiating from her eyes. She touched her swollen cheek, her fingers coming away with a small smear of blood from where her own teeth had cut her inner lip.
"You will regret this, Arthur," Margaret hissed, her voice trembling with an ugly, dark fury that completely contradicted her grandmotherly attire. "I will ruin you. I will take you to court for elder abuse. I will take that child from you, and I will have your crazy wife locked in an asylum."
"Get out!" Arthur roared again, taking a threatening step forward. The sheer aggression in his posture made the older woman scramble backward on the polished hardwood, her flats squeaking frantically.
Arthur turned his back on his mother, refusing to give her another second of his attention. He looked at the gaggle of useless relatives still standing around the untouched roast chicken.
"Someone call 911 right now!" Arthur commanded, his business-like authority returning, fueled by pure adrenaline. "Tell them a postpartum woman has collapsed from exhaustion and dehydration. Tell them we need an ambulance immediately!"
A younger cousin, a man in his twenties wearing a polo shirt, finally snapped out of his shock. He pulled a smartphone from his pocket and frantically dialed the numbers. "I'm calling them, Arthur. I'm calling them."
Arthur didn't wait. He carefully navigated his way out of the dining room and into the expansive, brightly lit living room. He gently laid Elena down on the plush, white sectional sofa. Her robe fell open slightly, revealing the pale, clammy skin of her legs. She was completely unresponsive now, her breathing terrifyingly shallow.
Arthur knelt beside the sofa, laying the screaming newborn Leo gently on Elena’s chest. The baby’s cries seemed to pierce through Elena’s unconscious state; her hand twitched, instinctively trying to reach for her child even in her coma-like exhaustion.
"I've got him, El. I've got him," Arthur whispered, keeping one hand securely on the baby while using his other hand to furiously rub Elena’s arms, trying to generate some warmth into her freezing skin.
From the hallway, the sound of the heavy oak front door slamming shut echoed through the house. Margaret was gone, but her departure wasn't a retreat; it was a tactical withdrawal. Through the large front windows, Arthur could see her marching down the concrete driveway toward her luxury sedan, surrounded by a few of the older relatives who had rushed out to coddle her.
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"The ambulance is on the way, Arthur," the younger cousin said, stepping tentatively into the living room. "They said three minutes."
"Thank you," Arthur said, not looking up. He pressed his forehead against Elena’s cold cheek. "Just hold on, baby. Please, just hold on."
