Her Revenge Begins in the Deep

Chapter 3

（（Evelyn POV）

I began groping around the container. Every touch of the water kept pouring in.

One hand pressed against the largest c***k, the other shielding my belly. My teeth chattered as I bit down hard. I drew a shaky breath and whispered to myself,

"Stay calm… I have to stay calm. Mom and Dad are waiting for me. I still have my baby… I can't just give up." But my hand couldn't hold back the water anymore. I needed something I could use.

It was like searching for hope in the dark. My fingers found my phone in my pocket. Heart racing, I pulled it out—only to see the screen cracked, barely showing a few letters… before it went completely dark.

"No… no…" I whispered, trembling, my fingers slipping on the slick surface. Tears and seawater mixed together. I sank into a corner, back pressed against the cold steel, arms tightly wrapped around my belly. Tears fell in a torrent. My breath came fast, but I forced myself to calm down.

I reached out, feeling around. Every jutting piece of steel, every object I could grasp, could be my lifeline.

I repeated to myself: "I have to stop the water from flooding in."

All around me were stacked crates and boxes. They looked ordinary, but I knew—this was a cargo ship after all—there had to be something I could use.

Trembling,I shuffled toward the boxes, prying one open after another with every ounce of strength. Each time I lifted a lid, my heart jumped—only to find useless junk. Hope rising and crashing down again and again, until despair nearly swallowed me whole.

Just as I was about to give up, I noticed a black toolbox tucked in the corner. Probably belonged to one of the ship's workers. I grabbed it almost violently, hugging it to my chest.

The moment I opened it, my heart leaped. Inside: bottled water, a notebook, three small loaves of bread, a cordless drill, and a roll of tape.

My hands shook, excitement almost making me tremble. Tape! Maybe I could actually patch the small cracks!

I turned carefully, pressing the tape over the holes in the container. Each patch slowed the water just a little, and my heart soared—briefly. But that tiny sense of security didn't last.

Suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through my belly, and I felt blood trickling down my inner thigh.

I froze, trembling as I touched my stomach, my heart hammering like it was being crushed by iron: "No… could it be… I'm going into labor?"

Pain slammed over me in waves, almost knocking me off my feet. The tape slipped from my hands. I tried to hold back the icy water rushing through the cracks, panic clawing at me—but I knew: if the water kept coming, both my baby and I could die.

I drew a deep breath, gritted my teeth, and grabbed the tape again. Every movement felt like dancing on a knife's edge. The pounding of the waves against the container, combined with my frantic heartbeat, sounded like a dirge—a song of death.

"No… baby… don't be afraid… help Mommy…" I whispered, voice trembling, pledging my vow from the depths of my soul. Tears and seawater blurred my vision.

The pain intensified, sweat and seawater mingling on my skin, my limbs nearly numb. But I had to keep patching the cracks, shielding the water with my hands, enduring the relentless ache in my belly—each breath a fight for survival.

"No…baby…don't be afraid…help Mommy…"I whispered, my voice trembling, a vow spilling from the depths of my soul. Tears and seawater blurred my vision.

The pain grew sharper, waves of it rolling through my body, sweat and seawater mixing on my skin. My limbs were nearly numb, yet I had to keep pressing against the water, keep applying the tape, keep enduring the churning pain in my belly—each breath a battle with death itself.

Inside me, the baby stopped moving, as if responding to my words. Maybe it was just a fetal kick, but somehow, that small sign gave me a sliver of hope. I leaned against the cold steel wall, inhaling deeply, hands pressed firmly to my stomach.

"Baby…be good. It's not your time yet. Give Mommy a little more time…" I whispered, my voice swallowed by the roar of water inside the container.

But the brief moment of reprieve did nothing to ease my fear. The cold still cut like knives against my skin. Seawater kept seeping through the cracks. My clothes were soaked through, my body battered by the icy water with every wave. Danger was still closing in.

I knew if I stayed submerged, my body temperature would drop fast. I had to act.

Cautiously, I began moving the wet cardboard boxes and wooden planks. Every shift had to be careful—one wrong move could send the water surging faster. Sharp edges tore at my fingers. Blood ran through my wet hands, mingling with the icy water.

Using the boxes,I built a makeshift platform, something to let me lean back, to lift myself above the rising water. Each box I moved left me exhausted, gasping for breath, but I couldn't stop. I had to hold on.