I’m really in labor. The baby’s only seven months—this is too early. It’s dangerous. Please… this is your child too. Just let me go to the hospital.
Another wave of agony tore through me. Had the fall hurt the baby? Fear clawed at my chest.
For the sake of my unborn child, I swallowed my pride. My fingers trembled as I reached out, clutching at Maxime’s pants. “Give me your phone,” I begged, my voice raw. “I’ll call an ambulance myself. Please… this is your baby.”
Maxime kicked my hand away, his lip curling in disgust at the mess on the carpet. “Pathetic.”
The pain left me limp, my body collapsing like a broken doll.
Then he crouched down, fingers digging into my throat. His voice was ice. “Cut the act. You love playing the victim, don’t you? If I don’t put you in your place now, you’ll think you can walk all over me forever.”
He straightened, barking orders. “Lock her in the bathroom. And get someone to clean this filth off the carpet.”
Two of his lackeys grabbed my arms, dragging me toward the toilet. I screamed, but my voice was barely a whisper. “Call an ambulance… please…”
One of the younger girls—a server—hesitated, her face pale. “Mr. Remington, she doesn’t look good. Maybe we should—”
Juan yanked her hair, slapping her hard. “Shut your mouth. Who asked you?”
The girl flinched, forcing a nervous smile. The older women just laughed.
“Sweetheart, you’re too naive,” one sneered. “This is what wives do—drama to control their men. Trust me, she’ll be just fine the second he caves.”
Lily smirked, draping herself over Maxime’s lap. “Sophie, Max is only doing this for your own good. You should thank him for keeping you out of sight before you humiliate yourself further.”
Her eyes locked onto mine, gloating.
You lose.
Outside, the party roared on—music, laughter, clinking glasses. Inside, I was alone.
I slumped against the cold tile, slamming my palm against the door. “Help…”
The lock clicked. My voice died in the silence.
Pain like nothing I’d ever known ripped through me. The contractions were coming faster now. I forced myself to focus, remembering the breathing exercises from class.
Calm down, Sophie. You can do this. Your baby needs you.
Tears and sweat blurred my vision as I screamed, my voice breaking.
My Water Broke, but My Husband’s Secretary Played Him
It felt like my body was being torn in half. The metallic tang of blood filled the air.
I didn’t know how long I’d been in here—only that the pain was getting worse.
It’s not working. The baby won’t come.
Panic surged. My hands shook as I pressed them to the frosted glass, smearing bloody fingerprints.
[SOS]
I slapped the door again, leaving streaks of red. Someone, please—
A man outside the adjacent bathroom froze. “Max! Something’s wrong—there’s blood on the door! Your wife might actually be—”
For the first time, hope flickered in my chest.
Hold on, baby. Just hold on.
Maxime’s drunken laugh cut through. “Blood? She probably smuggled in wine. A seven-month baby doesn’t just pop out. She’s faking.”
The man hesitated. “Max, just check. What if—”
Lily’s sugary voice purred over him. “Sophie’s done this before—threatened to quit if Max didn’t fire me. She’s just throwing a tantrum because he didn’t spend New Year’s with her.”
Silence.
My hope crumbled.
Another contraction ripped through me. No. I won’t let my baby die here.
I yanked off my coat, scrawling HELP in shaky, bloody letters.
Gritting my teeth, I hauled myself onto the toilet, reaching for the tiny vent window. Every movement was torture. My coat snagged—I tugged, sobbing—then finally, it tumbled out.
My foot slipped.
BANG.
I crashed to the floor.
The noise startled the room outside.
Through the haze of pain, I heard Maxime’s voice—sharp, sudden.
“…Sophie?”
