Hold the Birth Back

I was nine months along and ready to give birth, but my husband, Sean Conner, had me locked in the basement storage room and told me to hold the baby in. He said it was because his late brother’s wife, Quinn Faber, was also due today.

Years ago, Sean and his brother had agreed that the first child born to the Conners would be raised as the heir and inherit the family inheritance.

“Quinn’s baby must come first,” Sean said as if it were nothing. “She lost her husband and has nothing. You already have my love. It’s only right that the inheritance goes to her child.”

The pain from the contractions folded me over, and I cried, begging him to take me to the hospital. He wiped my tears with a dangerously calm voice.

“Stop the act,” he snapped. “I always knew you didn’t love me. All you care about is money and status. You forced labor to happen early so you could steal my nephew’s place… How can you be so cruel?”

White-faced and shaking, I managed to whisper, “I can’t control when a baby comes. It’s a coincidence. I swear I don’t care about the inheritance. I love you!”

He let out a cold laugh. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have pushed Quinn to sign that contract relinquishing her child’s inheritance. Fine. Once she has her baby, I’ll come back for you. After all, the child in your belly is my blood.”

Sean stayed outside Quinn’s delivery room. Only after the newborn arrived did he remember me. He ordered his secretary to take me to the hospital, but the secretary’s voice trembled as he said. “Madam… and the baby… They’re both gone…”

At that moment, Sean lost his mind.

When contractions blurred my vision and pain washed over me again and again, I woke up in a dim, freezing basement storage room.

The door slammed with a bang. If my foot hadn’t pulled back fast enough, my ankle would’ve been crushed. However, maybe I had moved too suddenly because all at once, I felt a hot rush of fluid between my legs. Immediately, I realized my water had broken.

Panic knotted my chest. I forced myself to calm down and tried to call for help, but I searched my body, and there was no phone. Sean had taken it away to make sure I couldn’t contact anyone.

The baby kicked wildly inside me. I was shaking from the cold and sweating from the pain. I strained my voice and called out for help, clinging to the smallest scrap of hope.

Finally, I heard footsteps outside.

“Please, somebody help me!” I screamed. “I’m locked in a basement! I’m about to give birth!” I kept shouting, thinking someone would come.

Instead, a triumphant voice answered, “Zoe, how does it feel to lie in a basement in the middle of winter? To me, Sean should’ve done this ages ago to teach you a lesson.”

It was Grace Conner, Sean’s