Chapter 3: The Neighbor Answered Across the Broken Glass
Mrs. Alvarez appeared beyond the neighboring yard, her porch light casting a pale rectangle across the grass. I could see her at the edge of that light, looking toward my kitchen window. The broken glass still clung to parts of the frame, and small pieces covered the counter beneath it. I kept my hands close to my body, afraid to move too quickly. Each contraction tightened through my abdomen and lower back, leaving me less certain of how long I could remain standing.
I raised one arm toward the front of the house, then pointed down the hallway. The gesture felt clumsy and incomplete, but the meaning was clear to me: the door was the problem. I crossed the kitchen with one hand against the counter and reached the front door. The handle turned under my palm. The door did not move. I tried again during the brief space between contractions, pressing my shoulder against it without enough force to hurt myself. It held.
The deadbolts were engaged. I could feel the resistance through the door, solid and deliberate, not the loose catch of a damaged lock. I stepped back and looked at the narrow strip of darkness beneath it. The outside remained silent. No footsteps crossed the porch. No key entered the lock.
When the next contraction eased, I returned to the broken window. Mrs. Alvarez had moved closer to the boundary between the properties, still separated from me by the yards and the height of the window opening. I pointed again toward the front door, then toward myself. I pressed both hands against my abdomen and bent forward. Her posture changed immediately. She stopped looking at the broken glass and focused on me.
I took the cell phone from the kitchen counter. Its screen lit my hand, showing the emergency call option and the last active display. My fingers trembled as I selected it. I held the phone near my ear while keeping my eyes on Mrs. Alvarez. The connection tone sounded thin against the house's silence. I gave the operator the address and the information I could manage, pausing whenever my breath shortened. I did not need to explain every part of the night. The locked door, the broken window, and the labor were enough to make the urgency plain.
Mrs. Alvarez watched the phone in my hand, then pointed toward the street. I nodded. She turned away from the yard and hurried toward the front of her house. I could no longer see her clearly once she left the porch light, but I saw the light shift as she moved. Her attention had become action. She was not trying to cross through my window or enter my house. She was finding a way to bring someone to it.
I lowered myself carefully onto the floor beside the kitchen cabinets, keeping my legs away from the glass fragments. The vase was gone from the counter, reduced to pieces among the splinters. The open window let in cold air and the distant sound of movement from the neighboring property. I kept the phone in my hand and listened for the response beyond the line.
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Another contraction began before I could fully recover from the last. I gripped the cabinet edge and watched the neighboring porch. Its light stayed on. Then, beyond it, a brighter beam moved across the far side of the yard and disappeared toward the street. The rescue had not reached me yet, but it was moving in my direction.
I remained inside the locked house, close enough to the broken window for Mrs. Alvarez to find me, with the phone pressed to my ear and the next contraction gathering strength.
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