Chapter 5 - The Refuge of the Sofa
The rough fabric of the sofa scraped against the younger woman’s back as the older woman hoisted her upward with surprising, wiry strength, dragging her a few feet closer to the still-open front door. A stray gust of cool autumn air drifted in from the porch, carrying the scent of damp earth and exhaust fumes, offering a fleeting, desperate taste of the outside world.
"Breathe," the older woman instructed softly, pressing her palm flat against the younger woman’s chest to regulate the erratic, shallow gasps. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Do not fight the pain; let it carry you."
The pregnant woman’s eyes remained locked on the open doorway, where the bright square of daylight framed the empty driveway. Her chest heaved beneath the white t-shirt, sweat plastering her blonde hair to her forehead in wet, tangled strands.
"I can't do this," she whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched the older woman’s green cardigan with white-knuckled desperation. "I don't even know your name. Who are you? Why were you locked in that room?"
"My name doesn't matter right now," the older woman replied, her gray eyes unwavering as she checked the progress of the labor with practiced, clinical efficiency. "What matters is that child inside you, and the one right behind it. Push your back flat against the cushions."
"Mark lied to me," the younger woman wept, the realization finally breaking through the fog of terror. "He said we bought this house together last year. He said we were starting fresh."
"This house has never belonged to Mark," the older woman said grimly, her fingers pressing firmly into the younger woman’s abdomen to guide the next contraction. "This house belongs to the foundation that built him."
Before the younger woman could demand an explanation, a sudden, blinding flash of lightning illuminated the hallway, though the sky outside had been clear mere moments ago. A sharp crack of thunder shook the foundations of the suburban house, rattling the glass in the front door.
The older woman froze, her gaze snapping from the doorway to the dark, recessed hallway where the interior door stood wide open.
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"They know we're awake," she whispered, her voice dropping to a terrified register. "And they're coming through the basement now."
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