The Seventh Letter in the Mailbox

The contractions came faster, harder—each one tearing through me as if my body were being ripped in two.

Trembling with pain, I felt my consciousness fraying at the edges.

Alan was no longer someone I could rely on.

I had to save myself.

With the last shred of my strength, I fumbled under the pillow for my phone. Muscle memory took over; my fingers dialed my parents in this world.

As soon as the call connected, I screamed, my voice raw and breaking. "Dad! Mom! Help me! I'm at the hospital… Alan is going to kill me…"

Before I could finish, a hand snatched the phone from my grasp.

Janet held it up, a victor’s smile on her face. Right in front of me, she pressed *end*.

"Still calling for reinforcements, Miss Ellie? At a time like this?"

She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper meant only for me. "Do you really think they’d even be allowed inside?"

Straightening up, she turned toward Alan in the doorway, her expression melting into fragile concern. "Alan, Miss Ellie seems… unwell. Probably just very anxious. I’ll go downstairs to see if her parents have arrived and try to calm them."

Alan believed her completely, his gaze softening. "You’re always so thoughtful. Go ahead. I’ll watch things here."

Then she was gone.

Only Alan, me, and a few frozen medical staff remained in the delivery room.

Pain washed over me like a black tide, threatening to pull me under. But I couldn’t let it.

Then—that icy, mechanical voice echoed in my mind.

**[WARNING! Host's vital signs are declining! Host must strive to complete the mission!]**

A bitter laugh caught in my throat.

The mission?

My mission was to give birth to this child.

But the system never said *how*.

It only said that once the child left my body—alive or dead—the mission would be complete.

How ironic.

All this time, I believed I had to fight with everything I had to protect this child, to bring it home.

Only now did I understand: maybe I’d been wrong from the very beginning.