James drove straight to the hotel. He was worried. The roads of Texas stretched before him, but he barely noticed the traffic or the red lights. All he could think about was Emily. Why was she in a hotel? Why didn’t she stay with her parents or friends? Why had she disappeared without a word? The diary told part of the truth, but James felt there was more. At last, he pulled up at the hotel she had mentioned. He rushed to the reception desk and asked for her room number. The receptionist gave it, and he ran to the elevator, his heart pressing against his chest with fear. When he reached her door, he knocked. No answer. He knocked again, louder this time. Still silence. Something was wrong. He turned the handle. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. Slowly, he pushed it open, and the sight before him almost froze his blood. Emily was lying on the floor, motionless. Around her were bottles—empty bottles of alcohol, scattered everywhere. The air was filled with the sour smell of drink. ...
Emily was in her room that night. She is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her belly. She was in her ninth month of pregnancy, and she had been counting down the days. For years, she and her husband, James, had prayed for a child. They had tried doctors, prayed in churches, and visited specialists. Nothing worked. Until one day, 9 months ago, Emily told James the news he had been waiting to hear — she was pregnant. From that day, James treated her like gold. He made sure she never lacked anything. He was excited, nervous, and happy at the same time. Every night, he would place his hand gently on her belly and talk to the baby. On this night in Texas, as the clock moved past 11pm, Emily felt a sharp pain. She gasped and held her belly tighter. The pain came again, stronger this time. “James… It’s time. I'm in labour,” she said quietly but firmly. James jumped from the chair where he had been watching TV. “Are you sure?” “Yes… I think I’m in labour.” He grabbed the hospital ba...