Chapter 1 - The Threshold of Panic
The gray long-sleeve shirt of the man rustled against the wooden frame as he gripped the handle of the front door, his eyes darting toward the asphalt of the driveway. Behind him, the white t-shirt of the pregnant woman clung to her skin, damp with cold sweat from the sudden contraction that had doubled her over moments prior.
"The babies are coming!" she screamed, her voice cracking with a raw, unfiltered terror that pierced the quiet suburban morning.
He did not turn around immediately, his hand tightening on the brass knob until his knuckles turned chalk white. "Don't move until I get back," he ordered, his tone flat, stripped of warmth, carrying the cold finality of an executioner.
"You can't just leave me here!" she sobbed, clutching her swollen abdomen as another wave of agonizing pressure radiated through her lower back. "The car keys are in your pocket, Mark! How am I supposed to go anywhere?"
Mark glanced over his shoulder, his gaze emotionless, devoid of the panic that should have defined the father of unborn twins. "I said stay. The engine is running. I am getting the bags."
"You don't have any bags in the trunk!" she yelled back, her breath hitching as she dragged herself forward, desperate to grab his sleeve. "I packed them yesterday! You took them out last night! What are you hiding from me, Mark?"
"Shut up," he hissed, stepping out onto the porch and pulling the heavy oak door halfway shut. "You are ruining everything. Just stay on the floor."
"Don't you dare lock me out!" she cried, lunging forward with a desperate burst of adrenaline.
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Before she could reach the threshold, the door clicked shut with a deafening finality. She slammed her palms against the wood, screaming his name into the grain, only to hear the heavy crunch of tires spinning on gravel as his car sped down the street, abandoning her entirely to the empty house.
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