Ten Years of Autumn

Chapter 7: The Storm before Sunrise

The week following Anton's discovery was a suffocating pressure cooker of silence and unexpressed fury.

He didn't return to Singapore. He handed over his resignation for the regional post without a second thought, trading his high-stakes international trajectory for a permanent transfer back to the corporate office in Manila. He rented a small, quiet house three blocks away from my ancestral home in Batangas, positioning himself close enough to step in if anything happened, but far enough to give me the space I demanded.

He showed up at my doorstep every single morning. He didn't ask to come in, nor did he attempt to touch me. He simply left groceries, fresh fruits, and prenatal vitamins on the wooden porch, stepping back into the gravel driveway until I opened the door.

Our conversations were sharp, sterile, and restricted purely to medical logistics.

"The obstetrician in Lipa says your blood pressure is slightly elevated," Anton said cold and even, sitting across from me in the clinic's waiting room during an emergency checkup at thirty-six weeks. His suit was gone, replaced by a dark, simple shirt, but his posture was rigid, guarded by a deep layer of betrayal.

"I'm fine, Anton. It's just heat," I murmured, keeping my head down, wrapping my fingers tightly around my strap.

"You're not fine, Olly," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low rumble. "You haven't been fine for seven months, and neither have I. So don't insult me by pretending this is just about the weather."

I swallowed hard, looking away. The guilt was an anchor drag across my ribs.

Two weeks later, the sky above Batangas turned midnight blue as a sudden, out-of-season tropical storm swept in from the coast. Rain hammered mercilessly against the roof, and power lines sparked and died across the barangay, plunging the neighborhood into darkness.

At 3:00 AM, a sharp, white-hot knife tore through my lower abdomen.

I gasped, sitting up in bed, my hands immediately flying to my stomach. Another contraction hit twenty seconds later, so intense it pulled the air straight from my lungs. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, but the battery icon flickered red and died.

Panic seized me. I stumbled out of bed, my legs trembling, cold sweat soaking my collarbone. "Anton..." I gasped into the empty room, struggling toward the front door as another wave of agonizing pain doubled me over.

I pulled open the heavy wooden door to find a figure already standing on the porch, drenched in rain, holding an emergency lamp.

Anton.

"I saw the power grid fail from my house," he said, his eyes wild with concern. Then he saw my face, pale and dripping with sweat, and the wet patch soaking through the hem of my nightgown.

His face drained of all color. "Olly?"

"The... the baby," I choked out, sinking toward the floor as a massive contraction hit. "Anton, it's coming."

In a heartbeat, the anger in his eyes evaporated, replaced by pure, desperate instinct. He swept me into his broad arms, lifting me effortlessly against his chest, shielding my body with his jacket as he rushed down the slick wooden steps into the blinding rain.