Author POV

Somewhere behind her, through the chaos of the storm, one of the men pulled a phone from his soaked jacket. He shielded it from the rain with a trembling hand and hit the call button. His voice was rough, low, and tense as he spoke into the receiver.

"She's not down yet," he said, breath heavy. "We've been right on her heels the whole way. She's running through the woods like something's chasing her. She's scared."

The voice on the other end crackled through the storm, cold and sharp. "I don't care if she's scared," the man snapped. "I care if she's caught. You let her slip away again, and it's your head this time. Do you understand me?"

The goon swallowed hard, wiping water from his face. "We'll get her. I swear. She's slowing down. She's—she's pregnant, boss. She can't keep this pace forever."

There was a pause on the other end. The voice returned, quieter. More dangerous.

"Then what's taking you so long? She's worth more alive, but I won't cry if she's not. Just don't come back empty-handed."

The call cut off.

The goon shoved the phone back into his pocket, jaw tight. He turned to the others, motioning forward.

"She's close. Let's end this."

Then—through the trees—a flicker of movement.

"There!" one of them shouted, pointing. His voice cut through the night like a shot. "By the ridge—she's running again!"

Their flashlights darted through the rain, beams slicing the darkness. And there she was.

She had risen from the mud, clutching her belly, eyes wild with fear as she tried to flee again. The light caught her face—streaked with rain and tears—and then dropped to her swollen belly, exposed beneath the soaked fabric. A flicker of hesitation passed through one of the men. But only for a second.

"Go!" another barked. "Get her! Now!"

And the chase began again, harder, faster—one woman carrying a fragile life, and three men who were willing to destroy both.

But getting to her hadn't been easy.

The forest was no ally to the men. The storm had turned every path into a trap—roots slick with rain, thorns clawing at their arms, and mud that tried to swallow their boots with every step. Their flashlights flickered in the downpour, cutting through mist and darkness like weak little blades.

"She's like a damn ghost," one of them muttered, wiping water from his eyes. "Every time we think we're close, she disappears again."

The trees were dense, branches lashing across their faces, soaking them through. More than once they slipped, cursed, shouted in frustration. The rain blurred everything—their sight, their sense of direction, even the sounds of their own breathing.

"She knows this place," another said, panting. "Or she's lucky."

But it wasn't luck. It was desperation. It was a mother's terror.

Even wounded, cold, and nearly broken, she stayed ahead. They couldn't understand it—how someone so fragile, so pregnant, could still be running.

But she wasn't running on strength.

She was running on love.

Tears poured down her cheeks, though they were lost in the endless rain. Her lips moved in desperate whispers between sobs.

"Please... please don't let them catch us..."

Behind her, the shouts were getting louder—closer. The goons were gaining ground, their boots pounding through the mud, relentless. Her legs buckled, her body nearly giving up—but then she saw it.

The river.

Wild, swollen from the storm, its waters roared like a beast, tearing through the landscape with violent purpose. It was no gentle stream—it was chaos. Dangerous. But it was the only chance she had left.

She stumbled to the edge, the muddy bank crumbling beneath her. The current was fast—vicious. A fall into it was no promise of safety... but staying was a guarantee of something worse.

Every inch of her ached. But worse than the pain was the knowing.

If they caught her, it wouldn't be mercy.

It would be the end—not just for her, but for the tiny life inside her that had somehow stayed strong through it all.

She looked back. Flashlights cutting through the trees.

Voices shouting her name.

They were almost there.

She turned back to the river, chest heaving, eyes wide and wet.

And then she pressed her hands gently to her belly, tears falling freely now. Her voice trembled, barely heard over the storm.

"Baby... listen to me," she whispered, "Mumma's right here. I know you're scared... I am too. But I won't let them hurt you. I won't."

She let out a shaky breath, wind whipping her hair across her face. "Mumma loves you more than anything in this world. You're all I have. Please... don't leave my side. Just stay with me... we're going to survive this. I swear it."

She kissed her hand and laid it against her belly one last time.

And then, eyes locked on the raging water, she whispered:

"Hold on, baby."

She jumped.

***********

The cold hit her like a wall—icy, brutal. The current pulled her under instantly, spinning her, dragging her downstream. She fought to keep her head above water, arms clutching her belly, choking on river and rain and fear—but she was moving. Fast.

The shouts behind her vanished into the storm.

The river had her now.

The water wasn't just cold.

It was violent.

It hit like a wall—snatching her under, yanking her down. Darkness closed in. The world became bubbles and noise and weightlessness. Her limbs flailed, dress twisting like seaweed around her legs. The current didn't pull—it dragged.

Her arms locked around her belly, lungs burning.

But even as she sank, as her ears filled with the muffled thunder of the surface above, her mind held one thing like fire:

"Don't leave me, baby... please, don't leave me."

The river tossed her like a ragdoll—pulling her down, spinning her through the freezing dark. She couldn't tell which way was up anymore.

She tried to fight.

Kicked.

Reached.

But the storm had her now.

Her arms were still wrapped tight around her belly, even as her strength slipped away. Her limbs grew heavy. Her thoughts blurred into white noise.

The current tore at her, but she held on to the one thing that still anchored her—her baby.

Her mind was slipping, softening at the edges, growing darker. Colder.

But just before the blackness swallowed her completely, a single, fragile thought floated up through the water and silence like a final prayer:

"Please... let my baby live... even if I don't."

And then—

stillness.

Her body went limp.

Eyes closed.

Breath gone.

The storm raged on above, uncaring.

The river carried her forward, unseen beneath the trees.

And somewhere beneath the surface, the world grew quiet.

♡

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