After that, I waited without knowing whether my sister had received anything.
Marcus noticed that waiting changed me.
I stopped begging him to explain why.
I stopped asking his mother for mercy.
I started listening more carefully.
That made him angry because he could not tell whether I was broken or planning something.
The night of the dinner, labor began in my lower back.
At first I thought the pain came from the metal floor and the position in which I had been lying.
Then it returned.
The second wave was stronger.
The third made my hands shake.
I counted the space between them as best I could.
Nine months pregnant, underfed, injured, and locked in a cage, I knew labor was no longer a distant threat.
It was happening.
Upstairs, Marcus welcomed guests.
I heard coats being placed somewhere near the entry.
I heard his mother offer drinks.
I heard voices I did not recognize.
That should have given me hope.
Instead, it terrified me.
Marcus loved performing kindness in front of witnesses.
He also loved proving that witnesses could stand a few yards away and still fail to see me.
When someone asked where I was, Marcus answered without hesitation.
“She’s visiting family.”
His mother added that I needed rest before the baby came.
The guests accepted drinks.
Plates were served.
Conversation continued.
I pressed my palm against the floor to keep from screaming.
