The Sister, The Husband, The Traitor

“Ma'am, can you hear me?" The voice sounded close, but Amelia felt far away. Sirens wailed. Cold air hit her face. “Her pressure's dropping. Move!" The word blood drifted through her head and pulled her backward. The alley. A few hours earlier, she'd only wanted to get home. “It's shorter this way," she muttered, turning off the bright main street into a narrow alley. A shape shifted ahead. Before she could turn, a hand yanked her purse. “Hey!" Amelia grabbed the strap. “Let go!" Three men blocked her path. “Easy, sweetheart." One of them grinned, a thin scar on his chin. “We're just being friendly." “I don't have much money," Amelia said quickly. “Take the bag. Just let me go." A taller man chuckled. “We're not here for your bag." His eyes slid over her. Her stomach turned. “I'm married," she said. “My husband's waiting. If I'm late, he'll come looking." “Then he should've walked you," the third man said, hands deep in his pockets. They closed in. For one wild second, a single name crashed through her panic. Joseph. He would come. He always said he would protect her. If she screamed loudly enough, if she just held on a little longer, he would appear at the mouth of the alley, angry and out of breath, and this would all be over. “Joseph!" she shouted toward the distant noise of traffic. Her voice bounced off the brick walls, thin and desperate. “Joseph, help me!" Someone seized her wrist. Fingers twisted in her hair. Pain shot through her scalp. The hope that he might hear her snapped like a thread. “Stop! Let me go!" The tall man slammed her against the wall. “Don't scream," he said. “No one's listening." Her heart hammered. She jerked her knee up and hit his leg. He swore and stumbled. “You b***h!" The scarred man slapped her. White light burst behind her eyes. Blood filled her mouth. “Hold her," he snapped. They dragged her deeper into the alley. Her bag slipped off and hit the ground. Her hair was still caught in their fists, yanking her head back so hard her vision blurred. Each step scraped her heels against the concrete as they hauled her away from the faint safety of the street. No one was coming. She could feel tears spill hot and helpless down her cheeks, cutting through the cold air as terror flooded her. A moment before, she had been certain Joseph would appear if she just kept calling him. Now, as the shadows swallowed her and the men's laughter echoed off the walls, that fragile belief crumbled into a heavy, suffocating despair. “Please," Amelia gasped. “I'm pregnant. Don't touch me. Please." They laughed. “Pregnant?" the tall one sneered. “Then you're used to men on you." The man with his hands in his pockets grabbed her chin. “Shut up." He forced her to her knees. The concrete bit into her skin. Panic exploded. No. Not the baby. She clawed at the ground. Her fingers brushed her phone where it had fallen, but a boot kicked it away. “Help!" she screamed. “Somebody help—" A hand clamped over her mouth. “One more sound and I'll break your jaw." She bit down. He yelped and jerked back. His fist crashed into her lower abdomen. Pain ripped through her belly. Amelia folded over with a strangled cry. The alley spun. Something hot slid down her legs. Her hand flew to her stomach. Her palm came away slick and warm. “Is that blood?" one of them muttered. They froze. “I told you," Amelia whispered. “I'm pregnant." “Forget this," the scarred man snapped, fear breaking through his tone. “We're leaving." “What about her phone?" someone asked. “Leave it!" They ran. Their footsteps faded. Silence dropped like a stone. Amelia could barely breathe. Each breath stabbed. The ground was cold and sticky under her. “Baby," she whispered, pressing her hand over her belly. “Hold on. Please hold on." She rolled onto her side and crawled toward the faint glint of her phone. Every inch sent fire through her abdomen. Her fingers finally closed around it. She unlocked it with shaking hands. Joseph. She hit call. The ring tone dragged on. The phone almost slipped from her fingers. “Joseph," she gasped when he answered. “Joseph, help me…" His voice came sharp, impatient. “Amelia? What is it now?" “I'm hurt," she stammered. “I'm bleeding. The baby—" “Do you know what today is?" he snapped. Crowd noise and boarding calls bled through line. “I told you I have an important event. You promised you wouldn't disturb me." “I'm not pretending," she whispered. “I was attacked. In an alley near the office. There's so much blood. I'm scared." He exhaled hard. “Every time I'm busy, you suddenly 'don't feel well.' I'm tired of this. I can't deal with you right now." “Joseph, please," she begged. “It's our baby. I need you—" “That's enough," he cut in. “Don't call me again tonight." The line went dead. Amelia stared at the words Call Ended. He hung up. On us. Another wave of pain tore through her. The phone slipped from her hand and skidded away. Her body felt heavy. “Somebody," she whispered. “Please… help…" Her voice barely rose above a breath. Footsteps sounded at the mouth of the alley. For a moment, terror spiked. Then a shocked male voice: “Hello? Hey! Are you okay?" A shadow knelt beside her. She forced her eyes open. A man in a delivery jacket stared at the blood spreading under her. “Oh my God." He dug for his phone. “Don't move. I'm calling an ambulance." “Baby," Amelia murmured. “My baby…" “Okay, listen." He leaned close. “What's your name?" “A…Amelia." “Amelia, I'm Tom. Stay with me, all right? Help is on the way." She heard him give the address, heard the word “pregnant." Sirens grew louder, then too loud. Blue and red lights flashed at the edge of her vision. The world tilted and slid away. … Beeping pulled her back. Amelia opened her eyes to a dim hospital room. A lamp glowed beside the bed. An IV hung above her. Her throat was dry. Her body felt heavy. The stabbing pain in her belly had faded to a deep, dull ache. For a moment she lay still. Then her hand flew to her stomach. Flat. Too flat. Her chest tightened. Her fingers pressed down, searching for any curve. Nothing. “No," she whispered. She fumbled for the call button and pressed it. The door opened. A young nurse came in, ponytail crooked, tablet in hand. “You're awake," the nurse said softly. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Trouble breathing?" “My baby," Amelia cut her off. Her voice came out raw. “My baby. Is my baby okay?" The nurse stopped. Her smile vanished. “Please," Amelia begged, gripping the blanket. “Tell me the baby's fine. I know I lost a lot of blood, but you brought me here, right? You operated. You saved the baby. You—" The nurse stepped closer and gently took her hand. “Mrs. Miller," she said quietly, “the doctors did everything they could." “So the baby's…" Hope flared painfully. “The baby's alive?" The nurse's eyes filled. “I'm so sorry." The words hit harder than any blow. “No," Amelia breathed. “No…" Tears blurred everything. She clutched the sheet with shaking fingers, pressing her hand over the empty place on her belly. “We tried to stop the bleeding," the nurse said softly. “But when you arrived, the baby's heartbeat was already gone." “I just felt her," Amelia choked. “She was there." “You knew it was a girl?" the nurse asked gently. Amelia nodded, tears sliding into her hair. “My husband said he hoped we'd have a daughter who looked like me." Her voice broke. “I never even saw her." “I'm truly sorry," the nurse whispered. Grief crashed over Amelia, heavy and cold. “She was all I had," Amelia whispered. “She was all I had left." The nurse squeezed her hand. “You're still here," she said. “You survived. That matters." Amelia didn't answer. Outside, footsteps passed in the hallway. Somewhere, a phone rang. Inside the small room, she lay staring at the ceiling, one hand pressed over the flat curve of her stomach. She had screamed for help. Her husband had hung up. Only a stranger had stopped.