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?"

A dead silence fell over the emergency room.

"Dr. Will... The patient's condition is critical. Severe hemorrhaging—she's lost too much blood. Without immediate surgery..."

"So?"

Will's voice was terrifyingly calm, even tinged with contemptuous amusement.

"This is just another one of her games, isn't it? The crying, the drama, the self-harm threats—all to drag me back, to force me away from Ruth? Does she really think that will work? Tell her it won't."

"Let her lie there by the OR doors. I might consider coming only once she's had enough time to think and realize how wrong she was."

"Oh, and one more thing," he added after a pause. "Who cares if the son she just delivered lives or dies?"

Then, the line went dead.

Time froze.

In the emergency room, every doctor and nurse stared at me with a blend of shock and pity.

But I couldn't feel the pain anymore.

In that moment, I learned what it meant for a heart to die before the body.

The man I had loved for years, the father of my child—as my life hung by a thread, his first instinct wasn't to save me. It was to use my survival as leverage, to force my surrender, to make me apologize to his precious Saint Ruth.

He didn't even care about our newborn son.

I slowly closed my eyes.

Maybe it was better to just die here.

**Mom! Don't sleep! Mom, open your eyes and look at Joseph! Joseph can't be without you!**

**Mom, please, don't give up! Bad Daddy doesn't want us anymore, you can't leave Joseph too! Waaah...**

Joseph's heart-wrenching sobs tore through the haze dragging me under, violently yanking me back to consciousness.

Right. I couldn't die.

If I died, what would happen to my Joseph?

He would fall into the hands of that monstrous pair. They would torture him to death.

I had to live!

For my child, I had to live!

My eyes snapped open. Clutching the white coat of a nearby nurse, I summoned every last shred of strength to rasp from my throat, "Save... me..."

My reaction stunned everyone.

Stephen looked at me, his expression complex—shock, guilt, a flicker of pity.

Finally, gritting his teeth, he snatched a pen from a nurse and scrawled a bold, flamboyant signature on the surgical consent form.

"Will."

He had forged it.

"Prep for surgery!" Stephen barked at the waiting doctors.

As they wheeled me into the operating room, I caught one last look at Stephen.

He stood there, pale, looking like a man who had just spent every ounce of courage he possessed.

Whatever he had done before, in that moment, he saved my life.

The surgery succeeded. I survived.

When I woke from the anesthesia, I was already in a VIP room.

Probably Stephen's arrangement, out of guilt.

Ariana and Timothy had waited outside, leaving only after the doctors confirmed I was out of danger.

Before going, they sent me the recorded video and audio files, saying I might need them later.

Looking at the evidence on my phone, my heart churned with conflicted emotions.

Before I could even ask to see Joseph, an uninvited guest pushed the door open.

It was my mother-in-law, Will's mother, Violet.

She carried a thermal lunchbox, her face fixed in a plastic smile. "Paige, you're awake! Oh, you gave me such a fright! And Will—how could he play such a cruel joke! He explained everything to me. He was giving Ruth emergency treatment; the signal was terrible. He couldn't hear you clearly, thought you were just throwing another tantrum. Don't blame him, dear. He does care for you."

I stared at her coldly, saying nothing.

Even now, she was making excuses for him.

This family was rotten to the core.

Seeing my silence, Violet showed no embarrassment. She opened the lunchbox herself. The rich aroma of her special chicken soup instantly filled the room.

"Here, Paige, I made you this soup. The best thing for recovery. You just gave birth, lost so much blood. Drink it while it's hot."

She ladled out a bowl and brought it solicitously to my lips.

In the past, I would have been moved to tears with gratitude.

Now, it just made me sick.

**Mom! Don't drink it! There's saffron in the soup! It'll cause a hemorrhage! This bad grandma wants to kill us!**

Joseph's terrified scream echoed in my mind.

Every hair on my body stood on end.

Saffron. A bolt of pure terror shot through me. Every new mother knew it could trigger dangerous hemorrhaging.

She was truly this evil!

Looking at Violet's kindly, gentle face, I felt a chill crawl down my spine.

To clear the way for her precious son, to let him fly off happily with Ruth, she was willing to personally kill the daughter-in-law who had just given her a grandson!

"Why aren't you drinking, Paige? Is it not to your taste?" Violet pressed, her tone urgent.

My hand shot up, swatting the bowl from her grasp!

*Crash!*

Scalding soup splashed all over her. The porcelain bowl shattered on the floor.

"What are you doing!" she shrieked, the mask of kindness ripped away, revealing a vicious snarl. "Paige! Don't you dare disrespect me! Do you still think you're part of this family? A jealous, venomous woman like you isn't fit to step through our door!"

"Who's the venomous one here—me or you?" I pushed myself up, my gaze icy as I stared her down. "You know exactly what's in that soup. Even a snake protects its young. Your family has less heart than a viper!"

"You... How dare you spout such nonsense!" Violet's eyes darted away, guilt written all over her face.

Just then, the door swung open.

Will and Ruth walked in, one after the other.

Will looked like he hadn't slept all night, dark circles under his eyes, his face haggard with exhaustion. But the look he gave me was still frosty.

Ruth, dressed in a pristine white hospital gown, leaned weakly against Will. Her face was pale, a picture of fragile beauty, as if a gentle breeze might topple her.

What a devoted pair they made.

"Mom, what's going on?" Will asked, frowning.

Violet immediately latched onto him, playing the victim first. "Will! Look what your precious wife has done now! I brought her soup out of the goodness of my heart, and she threw it at me—burned me! She even accused me of poisoning it! We can't keep a woman like this in the family! You must divorce her!"

Will's eyes fell on me, devoid of any warmth.

"Haven't you caused enough trouble already, Paige?"

I looked at him and suddenly laughed.

"Will. Are you disappointed I didn't die today?"

My words seemed to choke him. His face darkened further. "You're being irrational."

Behind him, Ruth spoke up in a soft, frail voice. "Paige... don't blame Will. It's all my fault... all because of my illness... The doctor said my condition is most vulnerable to intense emotional stress, especially... especially seeing scenes of other people's happy families..."

She covered her chest, her eyes welling up with tears.

**Mom, she's lying! She's smiling inside! She's thinking, 'That fool Paige still buys the sick act. Once I take her son and kick her out, the title of Mrs. Will will be mine!'**

Joseph's furious voice rang in my head.

Watching Ruth's masterful performance, my heart turned to ice.

So, it was all a carefully orchestrated lie.