Poseidon, the most powerful super typhoon in Rivermouth’s history, came ashore.

I lay in bed, contractions coming faster and harder, my forehead slick with cold sweat. My due date was any day now.

My husband, Will, was the youngest chief physician in obstetrics and gynecology at Rivermouth General Hospital.

He should have been here.

As I struggled to pick up my phone, ready to dial his number, a violent, wrenching cramp seized my abdomen.

Then a voice—milky soft yet crystal clear—exploded in my mind.

*Mommy, don’t call! Daddy’s with Aunt Ruth right now. If he comes here, she’ll die!*

My whole body went rigid. I almost dropped the phone.

A hallucination?

Was the pain making me hear things?

But the voice came again, trembling with tears and urgency.

*Mommy! Daddy will kill us! He said… he said we have to pay for what we did to Aunt Ruth!*

…

I’m Paige. I’d been married to Will for three years.

He was a renowned medical prodigy—handsome, refined, coolly composed.

And me? Just an ordinary freelance illustrator.

Everyone said I’d married well. I’d believed it, too.

Until Ruth showed up.

She was Will’s childhood sweetheart, the “most important little sister” he always called her.

Six months ago, her heart condition flared up. She’d returned from abroad and checked into his hospital.

From that day on, Will spent more time with her than with me, his pregnant wife.

I’d had my suspicions. We’d fought. But every time, Will would look at me as if I were insane, calling me jealous, paranoid, unreasonable.

“Paige, Ruth has a rare form of emotional stress cardiomyopathy. She can’t handle any stimulation, especially emotional. I’m just doing my duty as a doctor—and as an older brother.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, so righteously, that for a while I’d truly believed it was all in my head.

Now, the desperate cry of the child in my womb hit like a sledgehammer, shattering every lie I’d told myself.

*Mommy, don’t cry… Daddy said as long as you don’t make trouble, we’re his most beloved family. But he’s lying. He loves Aunt Ruth the most…*

The baby’s voice was full of childish hurt and fear.

I bit my lip hard, stifling a sob.

Tears mixed with cold sweat. I was a mess.

No. I didn’t believe it.

This had to be a hallucination. Prenatal anxiety playing tricks on me.

Trembling, I still dialed Will’s number.

The phone rang and rang before he picked up. Soft music played in the background, and a woman’s weak cough sounded.

“Paige? What now?” Will’s voice was thick with impatience. “I told you—Ruth’s in bad shape tonight. I need to be here. It’s a typhoon. Stay home and don’t cause trouble.”

My heart sank.

“Will, I… the pain is really bad. I think I might be in labor.” I used every ounce of strength to keep my voice steady.

Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then his icy, piercing question came. “In labor? Paige, you’d stoop to lying just to get me back? I examined you before I left. The baby’s position is fine. Your due date’s at least three days away. Can’t you tolerate Ruth’s existence for one night?”

“I’m not lying—”

“Enough!” He cut me off, his tone brutal. “I don’t have time for this. Ruth just fell asleep. Call again and disturb her, and don’t blame me for what happens.”

*Beep… beep… beep…*

The call ended, heartlessly.

I stared blankly at the phone screen. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze solid.

*Mommy, Daddy hung up… Does he not want us anymore…*

The baby began to cry inside me, a sorrowful whisper.

My tears finally broke through the dam.

So it was true. My husband—the man I loved—could really be this cold to his wife on the verge of childbirth, all for another woman.

***BOOM!***

A deafening crash came from outside. The whole building shuddered.

Then the baby’s voice in my mind turned sharp, terrified.

*Mommy! Run! The big glass in the living room is going to break! Daddy saved money and replaced the tempered glass with cheap stuff! Run!*

I shot up from the bed. No time to question if the warning was real. Survival instinct took over, and I scrambled, half-crawling, toward the enclosed master bathroom.

The moment I stumbled inside, a thunderous ***CRASH*** shattered the air behind me.

The living room’s massive floor-to-ceiling window tore from its frame. Countless shards of glass shot into the room like blades. The bed I’d just been lying on was now impaled with jagged, vicious pieces.

One second slower, and my baby and I would have been shredded.

I collapsed onto the cold bathroom tiles, my back drenched in sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs.

So… it was all true.

Everything the baby said was true.

My husband had skimped on a few thousand dollars and swapped out the life-saving tempered glass.

My husband was being tender at Ruth’s bedside, leaving his wife and child to fend for themselves in a death trap.

He even… wanted us dead.

A wave of pain, more intense than any before, ripped through my lower abdomen. I looked down.

A warm gush of fluid streamed down my thighs.

My water had broken.

"Hello, 911? I'm at Riverside One, on the twenty-eighth floor... My water just broke—I'm in labor—and there's a typhoon outside..."

My voice shook, barely under control, while the phone signal crackled in and out.

The dispatcher's tone remained professional, but her next words froze the blood in my veins.

"Is this Ms. Paige, Dr. Will's wife? The situation is urgent. I'm connecting you directly to our Deputy Director of Emergency Services, Stephen. He's Dr. Will's closest friend. This will be the fastest way to get you help!"

Stephen?

My heart sank.

Stephen was Will's brother in all but blood, his most loyal ally.

Whenever Will and I fought about Ruth, Stephen always sided with him, urging me to be the "bigger person" and "more understanding."

Sure enough, as soon as the call connected, Stephen's voice came through, flippant and impatient. "Paige, what's the drama this time? Will already warned me you've been on edge lately, told me to be patient. But in the middle of a typhoon? Who's this performance for?"

"This isn't a performance! I'm really in labor! The window's shattered and my water broke! Please, send an ambulance!" I sobbed, the cramping pain stealing my breath and making full sentences impossible.

"Alright, alright," Stephen dismissed, his tone dripping with contempt. "Enough games, Paige. Do you have any idea what it's like out there? Ambulances are stretched thin. People are waiting for lifesaving help. If you tie up the line, what if someone critical can't get through? Do us all a favor—go to bed and stop making things harder for Will."

Then he hung up.

I called back. No answer.

Slumping to the floor, I let the phone slip from my numb fingers. The screen's glow lit my pale, desperate face.

They were all in on it.

They all thought I was just jealous, throwing a tantrum.

They treated my life—our child's life—like a joke.

Outside, the wind and rain seemed to ease slightly, but inside was devastation. The power and water were out. Trapped on this isolated island, my last line of communication was dead.

In the darkness, only the faint heartbeat of my baby offered comfort.

*Mommy, don't cry... They're bad people. We won't beg them...*

*Mommy, I remember! Your phone has that neighborhood group chat! Lots of uncles and aunts are there! Quick, ask for help!*

Right—the neighborhood chat!

Grasping at my final straw, I struggled to pick up the phone and opened the long-muted homeowners' group.

With my last ounce of strength, I sent a voice message.

"Help... Riverside One, Tower A, unit 2801... I'm pregnant... in labor... Please, help me..."

The message vanished into the void.

Of course. In this weather, who would dare go out?

Once again, hope shattered.

Leaning against the cold wall, I felt my life seeping away with the blood pooling beneath me.

Just as my consciousness began to fade, a frantic pounding suddenly erupted at the door!

"2801! Ms. Paige! Are you in there? We're your neighbors!"

A loud, steady male voice cut through the storm.

My eyes flew open. The neighbors—they'd heard me!

*Mommy! It's the soldier uncle from downstairs! He heard! We're saved!* My baby's voice washed over me in overwhelming relief.

I crawled toward the door, my voice a ragged croak. "I'm here! I'm alive!"

"Ms. Paige! Hold on! We're in the eye of the storm—we might have an hour of calm to get you out! Your door's an electronic lock. With no power, it won't open. We have to break it down! Get back!"

The sound of tools battering the lock thundered from the hallway.

Minutes later, with a final *CRASH*, the door gave way.

A flashlight beam pierced the darkness. Behind it stood a burly middle-aged man, several other neighbors at his back.

I recognized the leader—Timothy, the retired soldier from the 27th floor.

"Ms. Paige, how are you?" Timothy's face fell as he saw the blood. "Quick! Old Zhang, find a sturdy board for a stretcher! Xiao Ariana, check if the car downstairs still runs! The rest of you, help me get her to the stairwell!"

The neighbors moved with practiced efficiency, each with a clear task.

Carefully, they lifted me onto the makeshift stretcher. A wave of warmth washed through me.

I didn't even know their names. Yet in my darkest moment, it was these strangers who reached out.

While my husband—the man who swore he loved me—only wished me dead.

With the elevator out of service, my neighbors carried me down twenty-eight flights of stairs—step by grueling step.

Their shirts were soaked with sweat, yet not one complained.

As Timothy directed the effort, he dialed 120 again.

"Hello? Emergency services? I'm at Riverside One. We have a pregnant woman here—severe bleeding, water's broken. She needs help now! The address is—"

Whatever the response, Timothy's face darkened instantly; his voice rose sharply.

"What do you mean, 'figure it out yourselves'? Your dispatcher took her call half an hour ago and dismissed her as a nuisance! Listen clearly: the patient is Paige. If she or her baby comes to harm, your emergency center and that doctor Stephen will be held accountable! I'm recording this!"

Perhaps "recording" did the trick. The voice finally relented, promising an ambulance immediately.

Hanging up, Timothy turned to me, his voice softening. "Don't be afraid, Paige. The ambulance is coming. We'll get you to a car first, out of the wind."

I nodded, tears streaming uncontrollably.

My neighbors settled me into the backseat of a spacious SUV. An experienced neighbor stayed to care for me while others went to the gate to wait.

Contractions came faster, harder. I felt myself slipping.

"Come on, dear, push. Follow my rhythm. Breathe in... breathe out..." Ariana, the neighbor with me, gripped my hand. "Don't be scared. I helped with births back in my village—I know what I'm doing. The baby's almost here. One more big push!"

*Mommy, you can do it! Joseph will see you soon! Mommy is the bravest mommy in the world!*

My baby's voice was my only lifeline.

Gritting my teeth, I summoned my last shred of strength.

"Waaah!"

A loud, healthy cry pierced the storm-ravaged night.

My son was born.

Deftly, Ariana wrapped him in a clean towel she'd prepared and placed him beside me. "Congratulations, dear. A big, healthy boy. Look how strong!"

Turning my head, I saw the tiny, wrinkled life: eyes closed, but his little mouth opening and closing as if smiling.

*Mommy, I'm Joseph.*

For the first time in my mind, he spoke his name.

Tears came again—a flood.

This was my Joseph. The child I'd fought with everything to protect.

Just as the storm began to rage anew, the ambulance arrived.

They loaded Joseph and me inside. Timothy and Ariana insisted on coming, saying they wouldn't rest until I was safe.

The ambulance screamed its way toward Rivermouth First People's Hospital.

I thought we'd be safe at the hospital. Little did I know, the real hell was only beginning.

By our arrival, my condition was critical.

Postpartum hemorrhage.

Medical staff rushed me to the ER; Joseph was taken to neonatal.

Lying on the cold hospital bed, my consciousness flickered. All I heard were frantic beeps and hurried footsteps.

"Patient hemorrhaging! Hemoglobin down to 6! Stat, prep for surgery!"

"Contact family! We need a signature on the consent form!"

"The contact is... Will, head of our department!"

"Hurry! Call Dr. Will!"

In my haze, I wondered: Will, are you finally coming?

When he sees me like this, sees our newborn son... will he feel even a flicker of guilt? Remorse?

Soon, a familiar voice: Stephen.

He must have rushed over after a call.

"Will's phone is off! I'll sign!" Stephen's voice strained.

"Dr. Stephen, that's against protocol. Immediate family only—"

"Protocol, protocol! A life is on the line! I'm signing! I'll take responsibility!"

Then, the nurses' station phone rang.

"It's Dr. Will! He's calling back!"

A collective sigh of relief swept the room.

I mustered my last ounce of strength, desperate for my husband's words.

On speaker, Will's familiar, icy voice filled the room—clear as day, like a venom-dipped dagger to my heart.

"She's hemorrhaging? Hah. To force me back, she'll really put on any act, won't she?"