It began with a pain so sharp it stole the air from my lungs.
I was lying on the cold floor again—too weak to stand, too exhausted to even make it to the bed. The apartment was dark, the air still suffocating from the power outage the night before.
Then it hit me.
A deep, unbearable tightening in my lower abdomen, the kind of pain that didn't ease after a few seconds… it just kept building.
My hands flew to my belly.
"No… no, please… not now… I'm not ready."
But my body had already made the decision I couldn't.
My baby was coming.
I reached for my phone out of instinct, only to remember… Steve had taken it.
Panic gripped my chest like a vice.
I crawled toward the door, dragging myself inch by inch across the floor, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through my swollen body.
My vision blurred with tears, every breath a struggle between a sob and a scream.
I pressed my forehead against the cold wooden door, pounding on it weakly with trembling fists.
"Help… please… someone… anyone…"
But no one came.
The building was silent. The world outside was still asleep, and I was left alone to fight for my life—and my child's.
Another contraction ripped through me, harder this time.
I screamed, the sound raw and guttural, echoing through the tiny apartment.
And then… the terror became real.
My water broke.
Warm liquid soaked through my thin dress, pooling beneath me on the floor.
This is it.
I wasn't going to make it to a hospital.
I wasn't even sure I'd survive the next hour.
In that moment of pure, blinding fear, I thought of my father.
His worried eyes when he told me not to marry Steve. His tired voice asking me if I was happy.
"Are you sure this is the life you want?"
No.
No, it wasn't.
This wasn't the life I wanted.
This wasn't the end I deserved.
With everything left inside me, I pulled myself up against the door, my body shaking violently, and I made a silent, desperate promise:
"If I survive this… if my baby survives… I will leave. I swear I will leave."
And as if my baby heard that promise, the pain intensified—wave after relentless wave.
I clenched my fists, biting down on my lower lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to give in to the darkness pulling at me.
I screamed through every contraction, not caring who heard.
And then…
Through the agony…
Through the blinding pain…
I felt it.
My child's head, crowning.
"Please… please… just one more push…" I gasped through the tears, through the unbearable fire of my breaking body.
With one final, desperate cry, I gave everything I had left.
And then…
A sound I will never forget.
A cry—weak, trembling… but alive.
My baby's cry.
I collapsed back onto the cold floor, my entire body shaking violently.
Tears poured from my eyes as I reached out with trembling hands, pulling my newborn child close to my chest.
A tiny, slippery, crying miracle.
My child.
My reason.
My salvation.
In that moment, I knew—this was the end of my suffering… and the beginning of our freedom.
No matter what it took, I would never let this child grow up in the darkness I had lived in.
I pressed a shaky kiss to the baby's forehead, tears mixing with sweat and blood, and whispered through broken sobs:
"It's over… it's really over… Mommy's going to save you now."