Message in a Bottle Under the Starry Sky

"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.