I was nine months pregnant when I suddenly started bleeding. I asked my husband for help, but he took my hospital bag, went to another woman, and locked me in the house alone. I called out to my husband, Lucas, who was sitting on the couch beside me. *Take me to the hospital.* He answered a call instead. He listened for a few seconds, then stood up. Without a word, he grabbed the hospital bag from the living room floor and headed for the door. "Lucas, wait. I haven't changed yet." At the door, he turned back. His face was tight with urgency. "Vivian's going into labor. She didn't pack anything. I'm borrowing yours." I gripped the wall, my legs unsteady. “What about me? I’m bleeding.” He slipped my phone and keycard into his pocket. "You're not due yet. Don't play the victim to get attention." "Just stay home. I'll be back when it's over." ... The heavy door slammed shut. The lock clicked into place. I dragged my swollen body to the entrance and twisted the handle. He had locked it from the outside. There was no way to open it from in here. The dull pull in my belly sharpened into something cruel. A warm rush slid down my thighs and hit the hardwood floor. My water had broken. Lucas had taken my phone. I crawled toward the landline in the corner of the living room. The moment my fingers touched the receiver, I saw it — the cord had been cut clean at the base. The cut was fresh, the copper wire still bright. The contractions came harder, faster. Sweat poured down my forehead. I slid down the wall and sat on the cold floor, my nightgown soaked. Survival pushed me toward the balcony. I couldn't give up. I crawled toward the balcony. We lived on the second floor. Below was a strip of garden. I pushed the window open and shouted into the dark. "Help!" "Someone — please — call 911!" A security guard’s flashlight beam swept up and hit my face. He squinted up at me. "Mrs. Valentine. Please don’t make a scene." "Mr. Valentin told us you’ve been emotional during pregnancy, that you like to scream. "He said you've been imagining you're in labor. He told us not to come up, no matter what we heard." My fingernails scraped against the aluminum frame. I clung to the sill, my knuckles white. "My water really broke! Please. I'm in labor. Please call an ambulance." The guard shook his head. "Mr. Valentine was very clear. Anyone who calls 911 or the police on your behalf would be undermining your marriage. He said he'd hold us responsible." "Please go back inside, ma’am. Don’t make trouble for us." He clicked off his flashlight and walked away, his footsteps fading into the dark. I stared at the empty garden. No sound came from my throat. Lucas had blocked every escape. He had even cut off the kindness of strangers. I stumbled back inside. My vision was starting to blur. The baby inside me must have sensed it — he started kicking, frantic, desperate. My knee gave out. I went down beside the coffee table and knocked over the fruit bowl. Glass scattered across the floor. The whole room was a mess. *I can't die here.* My fingers closed around a long shard of glass. I would break the door open. I didn't care if I tore my hand apart. Then the red light on the ceiling security camera blinked on. Lucas's voice came through the smart speaker, cold and distant. "Veronica. haven’t you made enough of a scene?” His voice echoed through the empty room, looking down at me from somewhere safe. I lifted my head and stared at the blinking red light. He had been watching the whole time. He had time to watch me bleed. I raised my bloody hand toward the lens. "Lucas. I'm bleeding. I'm really in labor." A small, dismissive scoff came through the speaker. "Here we go again." "Last time it was red ink. What is it this time?" "Vivian is in agony right now, and you're putting on a performance for sympathy." "You disappoint me, Veronica." My whole body was shaking. Blood pooled beneath me, warm and spreading. "Lucas. For the baby......Please." "Call me an ambulance."
There was a pause on the other end of the speaker. Then Lucas sighed. "Veronica. The lengths you'll go to for attention." "I read your prenatal report before I left. The doctor said everything was fine. You aren't due for another two weeks." "You're lying on the floor playing dead just to pull me away from Vivian, don’t you?” I dragged in a breath. "I'm not lying to you." "My water broke. The baby is going to suffocate." "Lucas. This is your child." Through the speaker, I heard a woman’s weak moan—Vivian’s. “Vivian, are you in pain again? The doctor is on his way.” His voice softened, full of care. "Veronica. Vivian is an orphan. She has no one but me." "You have a family. You have money. Why do you have to compete with a poor girl?" "She’s just borrowing your hospital bag, and you stoop to such a dirty trick to force me back. You’re despicable." My cheek pressed against the cold floor. Tears mixed with sweat and dripped off my chin. I pulled my eyes away from the camera and started crawling toward the door, gritting my teeth. Glass cut into my palms. I didn't feel it. I only had one thought: *Get out.* I reached the entryway, raised the shard, and slammed it against the lock. The glass shattered. My hand opened up in a deep red line. The deadbolt didn't even shift. Lucas's voice came back through the speaker, low and furious. "Veronica. What are you doing?" "If you damage that door, I swear —" I wiped my bloody hand on the shoe cabinet and searched frantically. I remembered there was a spare key here. If I could find it, I could live. I threw everything onto the floor. At the bottom of the lowest box, my cold fingers touched a metal key. I dragged myself upright against the wall and pushed the key into the lock with both hands. It wouldn't go in. I leaned down to look. Someone had filled the keyhole with dried glue. I just sat there, staring at it. "Don't bother." Lucas's voice came through the speaker, a little smug now. "I know how stubborn you are. I was afraid you'd sneak out and cause a scene at Vivian's hospital." "So I sealed the lock with super glue before I left." "Just apologize. Veronica, just admit you were wrong and promise not to bother Vivian. The moment she's done, I'll come straight back." My back slid down the door until I slid down slowly, the wood cold against my spine. He hadn't sealed me in to protect Vivian. He had sealed me in to make sure I had no way out. He wanted to take away my very right to survive. I looked up at the camera, my voice hoarse. "Lucas. Let's get a divorce." A pause. Then his enraged voice exploded from the speaker. "*Veronica*. You're threatening me again?" "You think saying *divorce* will make me come running? Is that the only trick you have? Crying, screaming, threatening — is that *all* you know?" I closed my eyes. I didn't answer him. The contractions came one after another now, relentless, crushing. I felt something descending, a terrible pressure. "Lucas. I don't want you anymore." Then I gathered the last of my strength, raised the metal key, and threw it at the camera. The lens shattered. The red light went out. The room fell silent. I lay there in the spreading blood, breathing hard.
Lucas had taken control of the apartment automation system through his phone. The living room lights cut out all at once. The hum of the air conditioner died. The fridge fell silent. Every appliance stopped breathing at the same second. Darkness swallowed the room. Through the smart speaker, his voice came cold and hard. "Veronica, since you don’t want to behave, you can reflect in the dark. " "When you’re ready to admit you were wrong, I’ll turn the lights back on." "Don't expect any sympathy from me. You brought this on yourself." I curled up on the floor, biting down on my lip so I wouldn't cry out. I could feel the blood draining out of me. Each contraction was sharper than the last. I had to stay conscious. I had to. I crawled toward the bathroom, my hands slipping in the wetness. There were scissors in there. Towels. If no one came to save me, I would have to deliver the baby myself. I had just reached the bathroom door when the speaker came back to life. This time he forced a video call through, casting it onto the TV in the living room. The screen lit up the room in a pale blue glow that fell across my face. Vivian was on the screen, propped up in a hospital bed. Her color was good. Her hair was brushed. She was curled against Lucas’s chest, my hospital bag resting on the bed beside her. "Lucas… is Veronica really upset with me?" Vivian’s voice was sugary, laced with fake concern. "I didn't mean to take her bag. The contractions just came so fast." "Maybe you should go home and check on her. I'll be okay on my own." Lucas brushed a tear from the corner of her eye, painfully gentle. "Don't worry about her. She just can't stand seeing me good to you. She smashed the security camera—she’s probably throwing a tantrum somewhere right now.” Then he turned to face the screen, and his expression hardened. "Veronica. Look at Vivian. Look at how sweet she's being." "Now look at yourself. Screaming. Breaking things. Cutting yourself off like some lunatic." "I'm warning you. If you upset Vivian one more time —" "Tomorrow morning, I cut off your brother's medical bills." My heart sank into a bottomless pit. My younger brother was the only family I had left in this world. He was still in the ICU, kept alive by machines. Lucas knew that. He knew exactly where to strike. All his tenderness was reserved for Vivian—the woman who called me “sister” to my face. Watching the two of them on that screen, I felt sick. "You disgust me, Lucas." I forced the words out with what little I had left. On the screen, Vivian flinched and pressed herself against Lucas. "Lucas, she's so mean. My stomach hurts." His face went black with fury. “Veronica, you’re asking for it. Since you love throwing fits so much, you can stay locked in there until you rot.” The video cut. Then I heard a hollow sound from the pipes—air sucking through empty lines. He hadn’t just cut the power. He had remotely shut off the main water valve. I dragged myself to the sink and twisted the faucet. A few drops fell. Then nothing. No water. No electricity. No way to call for help. He had backed me into a corner with no way out. My back rested against the cold tile wall. I panted, each breath a struggle. The blood had soaked through my dress completely. The metallic smell filled the small bathroom. The baby’s movements had slowed. From frantic kicks to weak, barely perceptible shifts. "It's okay, baby." I whispered, my hand pressed to my belly, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. “Mommy will save you. I promise.” I gritted my teeth and reached under the sink. My fingers brushed against something rusted. A pair of old scissors. I closed my hand around them. This was my last chance to save myself.
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