Message in a Bottle Under the Starry Sky

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.