I whispered a prayer, willing myself to find the strength to move. The babies needed me. They needed me to be strong, to get through this, for them. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself into a sitting position, clutching my belly, trying to gather the will to stand.

My phone was in my pocket, and with trembling hands, I dialed 911. “Help,” I managed to croak out, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m in labor… I need an ambulance.”

Renee watched me with a mix of fascination and disdain, her phone still pointed at me like a weapon. My plea for help might as well have fallen on deaf ears, but I didn’t care. I’d done the most important thing: I’d called for help.

Minutes later, though it felt like an eternity, the faint sound of sirens pierced the air. Darren shifted uneasily, his eyes darting between me and the approaching sound. Norma’s smirk faded, replaced by a tight-lipped frown. This wasn’t how she’d planned it.

When the paramedics burst through the door, it felt like a lifeline had been thrown to me in a stormy sea. “Please,” I begged as they lifted me onto a stretcher. “Save my babies.”

The ride to the hospital was a blur of pain and fear. The twins were coming fast, and there was no time to waste. The paramedics worked quickly, their calm professionalism a stark contrast to the chaos I’d left behind.

Hours later, I found myself in a hospital bed, my newborn twins swaddled beside me. They were perfect, tiny miracles amidst the turmoil. I gazed down at them, tears of relief and love streaming down my face.

The nurses informed me that Darren, Norma, and Renee had been escorted from the hospital. The police wanted to speak with me about what had happened. I nodded, knowing that I needed to be strong, not just for myself, but for my children.

I had won the lottery, but what I had truly gained was clarity—a chance to rebuild my life, free from those who would harm us. As I held my babies close, I realized that they were my true fortune, and I vowed to protect them with everything I had.