CHAPTER 3: THE HOURS NO ONE ANSWERED
By the time the night fully settled over the house, I had stopped believing help was coming.
Not because I didn’t try.
But because every attempt ended the same way—nothing.
No signal.
No response.
No voice on the other end of the line confirming I still existed in someone else’s world.
Only pain remained consistent.
Pain, and the growing fear that something inside me was no longer stable.
I had lost track of time.
The house no longer felt like a home.
It felt like a sealed room that had forgotten it was supposed to let people out.
Every few minutes, another contraction would tear through me, forcing me to curl into myself on the floor.
I stopped screaming after a while.
Not because it didn’t hurt.
Because it didn’t matter.
No one was coming.
At some point, I crawled toward the front window again.
Outside, the street was still alive.
A neighbor walking a dog.
A car passing slowly.
Light spilling from other houses where dinner tables were still set, where people were still talking, still laughing, still being human together.
I pressed my hand against the glass.
“Help…” I whispered.
My voice didn’t carry.
No one looked up.
I started hitting the window again.
Harder.
“Please!”
My palm stung.
My breath broke.
Nothing changed outside.
Life continued exactly as if mine wasn’t collapsing behind the glass.
Another contraction hit and I collapsed to my knees.
This one felt different.
Heavier.
Lower.
Wrong in a way I couldn’t ignore anymore.
I gasped, clutching my stomach.
“Please… not now…”
My body didn’t listen.
It never did.
I dragged myself back into the hallway, leaving faint streaks behind me I refused to look at directly.
I reached for the kitchen counter, pulling myself upright just long enough to stay conscious.
My phone lit up briefly.
A message.
From Ethan.
“Stop calling. I’m at the party. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I stared at it.
For a long time.
The words didn’t feel real.
They felt like something someone would say about a stranger, not the woman currently bleeding and laboring alone inside a locked house.
Embarrassing.
That was what I was.
Not in danger.
Not in labor.
Just inconvenient.
Another contraction hit immediately after.
I screamed again—this time dropping the phone.
It hit the floor and slid under the table.
I couldn’t reach it.
Not anymore.
I sank against the cabinet.
My breathing became shallow.
My vision blurred at the edges.
And for the first time, a thought formed clearly enough to cut through the chaos:
Something is going wrong.
Not just pain.
Not just labor.
Something more dangerous than either.
I tried to stand.
My legs didn’t fully respond.
I fell again.
Harder this time.
The impact sent a shock through my entire body.
I tasted something metallic in my mouth.
Fear sharpened instantly.
“No… no, no…”
I forced myself to crawl again, this time toward the bedroom.
I don’t even know why.
Instinct maybe.
Or denial.
Or the last part of me still pretending this was something that could be managed alone.
The hallway stretched longer than it should have.
Every few inches felt like miles.
Every breath felt borrowed.
When I finally reached the bedroom doorway, I stopped.
Not because I was safe.
But because I realized something worse.
I might not make it to the end of this room.
Another contraction hit.
This one brought me fully to the floor.
I cried out—but the sound was weak now.
Broken.
My hands shook violently as I pressed them against my stomach.
“Stay… please stay…”
I didn’t know if I was talking to the baby.
Or to myself.
Then, faintly—
a sound outside.
Music.
Laughter.
The distant echo of a party continuing somewhere I was not allowed to exist in.
I closed my eyes.
And something inside me snapped.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
Like a decision being made without permission.
If no one was coming…
then I would have to survive this alone.
Even if I had no idea how.
Even if every part of me was already breaking.
I dragged myself inch by inch again.
Not toward safety.
Toward effort.
Toward anything that still meant life was possible.
And somewhere far away, at a brightly lit birthday table, my husband raised a glass and laughed—
May you like
completely unaware that the moment he chose to leave me behind…
he had already set in motion the end of everything he thought he controlled.
