The contractions were getting more frequent, and I could feel the baby's struggling movements.
Whenever the new wave of pain hit, I would stop wrestling with the rope for a few seconds, only to continue after the sharp pain had subdued. After a few times, I began to lose hope. I was losing too much amniotic fluid, and the baby's activity was weaker.
I knew that he was losing his strength because of the lack of oxygen in the womb.
I wanted to give up, but I couldn't. I hadn't seen him yet. I couldn't just let him go when he hadn't got the chance to see the world.
The physical and emotional pain was tormenting. Shaking in the shooting pain, a bright light reflective of something in the pitch-black warehouse caught my attention. It was a mirror!
The discovery of it ignited a glimmer of hope in me. Crawling, I moved towards the mirror with great difficulty.
It was only two steps away, but it felt forever for me to reach it. When I finally did it, I hit it
in full force with my head.
With a crack, the mirror shattered into pieces.
There was a sharp pain on my forehead, but I didn't have the time to worry about it. Moving my tied hands to reach the mirror shard, I began cutting the rope on my legs, bit by bit. The edged shard was cutting into my palm too.
However, the rope was very thick. After some time, my hand went numb from the pain. There was blood all over my hands and feet, and it felt sticky.
Nevertheless, none of the discomforts I felt could compare to the grief I felt when the movement of the baby in my belly became weaker.
I would rather die to brace the pain of losing my child.
"Boom!" Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder, and the air turned humid.
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