Message in a Bottle Under the Starry Sky

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?"