Chapter 2 - The Door That Didn't Open
The knock was not the confident, possessive rap of a husband who had forgotten his keys. It was a rhythmic, frantic pounding that echoed through the house like a drumbeat of salvation. I crawled toward the hallway, dragging my leaden legs, my breath coming in jagged, desperate gasps.
“Help,” I croaked, my voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears. “Please.”
I reached the door and pressed my forehead against the cool wood. “Please,” I whispered again, louder this time.
“I heard someone! Is someone in there?” The voice was feminine, sharp, and concerned. It was Mrs. Gable, our next-door neighbor. She was the one woman in this neighborhood who looked at Diane with open suspicion and at me with quiet sympathy.
“Mrs. Gable?” I gasped. “It’s... it’s me. I’m in labor. They’re gone. The door is locked.”
There was a heavy silence on the other side. Then, the sound of metal scraping against metal. Mrs. Gable wasn't just a neighbor; she was the widow of a locksmith. She had a set of tools that could open almost anything.
“Honey, stay back from the door,” she commanded, her voice turning into a drill sergeant’s bark. “I’m coming in.”
The lock clicked, then snapped back. The door swung open, and Mrs. Gable stood there, her face draining of color as she saw me collapsed on the foyer rug, my dress stained and my face ghostly pale. She didn't hesitate. She didn't ask questions. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed, her voice crisp and urgent.
“Dispatch, this is 1422 Oakwood. I have a woman in active, high-risk labor, thirty-eight weeks pregnant with twins. Her family has abandoned her. Send an ambulance immediately.”
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As the sirens began to wail in the distance, I felt a strange, detached peace. The people I loved had left me to die on the floor to save a discount handbag, but a stranger had saved my life. By the time the paramedics burst into the room, I was slipping into the haze of transition. I remember the white lights, the feeling of being lifted, and the smell of sterile oxygen.
Blake, Diane, and the sister were still at the mall, probably debating the merits of a leather strap while I was fighting for the lives of our children in the back of an ambulance.
