My breath came out in weak, ragged bursts, and each cramp in my stomach felt deeper and tighter than the last.
I kept thinking about the baby and praying for her safety.
I placed both of my frozen hands over my belly and whispered, “Please, please be okay.”
But my voice trembled so violently I could hardly hear it myself.
I pounded on the glass again, though my movements were sluggish and weak.
Inside, the apartment looked so warm and bright, full of movement and life, completely disconnected from what was happening just a few feet away.
I saw Jacob’s mother carrying clean dishes across the room.
I heard muffled laughter drifting through the thick glass.
At one point, I saw Brenda walk past the door without even glancing in my direction.
That was the moment I realized this was not a joke to her.
It was not an accident at all.
She knew I was out there, and she was choosing to leave me to freeze.
My teeth chattered so hard it actually caused me physical pain.
My legs felt heavy and unsteady, and another massive cramp twisted through my lower abdomen, this one so sharp I finally cried out in agony.
I banged again with both fists, letting panic take complete control.
“Jacob!” I screamed as loud as I could.
“Jacob, please help me!”
I must have finally been loud enough, or perhaps someone noticed the movement, because Jacob’s mother turned her head toward the balcony.
Her face changed instantly from casual curiosity to sheer terror.
She dropped the damp dish towel and rushed toward the door, pulling at the handle.
It did not open because it was locked from the inside.
“Brenda!” she shouted toward the hallway.
“Why is this door locked?”
Brenda appeared from the hallway, her face suddenly turning ghostly pale.
“I, she just stepped out there, I didn’t think she would stay.”
Jacob rushed in right behind his father, saw me slumped against the cold metal railing, and his face went absolutely white.
“Open the door, now!”
Brenda fumbled with the lock, her hands shaking violently now.
By the time the door finally slid open, I could not stand up anymore.
I tried to step forward, but the room spun violently around me.
Jacob caught me as my knees gave out and I collapsed toward the floor.
“Emma! Stay with me, look at me!” he shouted, his voice cracking with fear.
His voice sounded so distant, like it was coming from the other side of a long tunnel.
I remember his mother touching my freezing hands and gasping at the lack of warmth.
I remember Brenda standing there and repeating, “I didn’t know it was that bad,” over and over as if that pathetic excuse changed anything.
Then I looked down and saw a dark, damp stain spreading across the front of my leggings.
For one horrifying second, no one moved or spoke.
Jacob followed my gaze and froze completely.
“Is that blood?”
His mother started crying out loud.
Brenda backed away until she hit the wall, looking trapped.
Then the pain hit me again, deep, brutal, and tearing, and I heard myself scream as Jacob grabbed his phone to call for an ambulance.
At the hospital, everything became a blur of bright lights, beeping monitors, nurses, and rapid questions.
How long had I been exposed to the freezing cold?
How far along was I exactly?
Had I felt these specific contractions before?
I answered everything between sharp breaths while Jacob stood beside me, shaking so badly he could barely hold onto my purse.
Then the doctor looked up from the chart and said clearly, “She is showing definitive signs of preterm labor.”
The words hit the room like a physical explosion.
Preterm labor, only twenty-eight weeks into the pregnancy.