I don’t know how long I was out there. Ten minutes? Twenty? Maybe longer. In the cold, time lost all meaning. All I knew was my hands had stopped hurting because I could barely feel them anymore, which scared me more than the pain had. My breath came out in weak bursts, and each cramp in my stomach felt tighter than the last.
I kept thinking about the baby.
I placed both hands over my belly and whispered, “Please, please be okay.” But my voice trembled so much I could hardly hear it.
I pounded on the glass again, weaker this time. Inside, the apartment looked warm and bright, full of movement, completely disconnected from what was happening just a few feet away. I saw Ryan’s mother carrying dishes. I heard laughter through the glass. At one point, I saw Melissa walk past the door without even glancing at me.
That’s when I realized this wasn’t a joke to her. It wasn’t an accident. She knew I was out there. She was choosing to leave me.
My teeth chattered so hard it hurt. My legs felt heavy and unsteady, and another cramp twisted through my lower abdomen, this one so sharp I cried out. I banged again with both fists, panic taking over. “Ryan!” I screamed. “Ryan, help me!”
I must have finally been loud enough, or someone noticed movement, because Ryan’s mother turned toward the balcony. Her face changed instantly. She dropped the dish towel and rushed to the door, pulling at the handle.
It didn’t open.
“Melissa!” she shouted. “Why is this locked?”
Melissa appeared from the hallway, suddenly pale. “I—she just stepped out there. I didn’t think—”
Ryan rushed in right behind his father, saw me slumped against the railing, and went white. “Open the door!”
Melissa fumbled with the lock, her hands shaking now. By the time the door slid open, I couldn’t stand anymore. I tried to step forward, but the room spun violently. Ryan caught me as my knees gave out.
“Emma! Stay with me!” he shouted.
His voice sounded distant. I remember his mother touching my freezing hands and gasping. I remember Melissa repeating, “I didn’t know it was that bad,” over and over as if that changed anything.
Then I looked down and saw a damp stain spreading across the front of my leggings.
For one horrifying second, no one moved.
Ryan followed my gaze and froze. “Is that blood?”
His mother started crying. Melissa backed into the wall. Then the pain hit again—deep, brutal, tearing—and I heard myself scream as Ryan grabbed his phone and called for an ambulance.
At the hospital, everything became bright lights, monitors, nurses, rapid questions. How long had I been exposed to the cold? How far along was I? Had I felt contractions before? I answered between breaths while Ryan stood beside me, shaking so badly he could barely hold my bag.
Then the doctor looked up and said clearly, “She’s showing signs of preterm labor.”
