Chapter 4 - The Internal Crisis
A sudden, agonizing cramp seized my lower stomach—sharper, deeper, and far more violent than any Braxton Hicks contraction I had ever experienced. It felt as though an iron fist was squeezing my uterus from the inside out, cutting off my breath.
I gasped, my knees buckling slightly as I leaned heavily against the cold glass of the balcony door for support. The pain radiated down my thighs, burning like fire. Panic, cold and sharp, eclipsed the physical chill of the weather.
"No, no, no," I whispered to myself, tears freezing on my cheeks as they spilled over. "Not now. Please, not now."
Inside the apartment, I could see shadows moving past the living room windows. I caught a glimpse of my mother-in-law sitting on the sofa, laughing at something on the television screen. Brenda walked past the kitchen window, holding a glass of wine, completely unbothered, her expression casual and detached.
I tried to scream again, but the pain in my abdomen stole the air from my lungs. Another contraction hit, longer and more intense than the first. My vision began to blur at the edges, dark spots dancing in the cold evening air. The concrete floor beneath my feet felt miles away, my legs turning to water.
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I banged my fist one last time against the glass, a pathetic, weak tap, before my fingers slipped from the handle.
My body gave out. I crumpled downward, sliding against the glass door until I hit the cold concrete of the balcony floor. As darkness closed in around my vision, the last thing I heard was the muffled, cheerful rhythm of music from inside the apartment, completely oblivious to the life-or-death struggle happening just feet away on the other side of the glass.
