The cold rain soaked through my gray maternity sweater instantly.

The wind whipped across the yard, biting through my thin clothes.

I walked down the steps, holding the cold metal handrail to keep from slipping.

My sedan was parked in the driveway.

I managed to unlock it with my key fob, open the driver’s side door, and crawl inside.

The interior of the car smelled of old leather and cold air.

The pain in my abdomen flared again, sharper than before.

I reached into my leather purse and pulled out my phone.

I did not call 911 first.

Instead, I dialed a private number I had kept memorized for years.

It was a number I hoped I would never have to use in my civilian life.

The phone rang twice before a deep, disciplined voice answered.

“Vale,” the voice said.

“Sir,” I said, my voice trembling from the cold and the pain. “This is Colonel Langley.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

“Tessa?” General Vale said. “What is your status?”

“I am in labor, sir,” I said. “And my husband has locked me out of my home.”

“Where are you now?” he asked, his tone shifting instantly into command mode.

“In my car, in the driveway,” I said. “He forged my signature on the estate documents.”

I heard the rustle of papers on his end.

“I am dispatching transport to you immediately, Colonel,” General Vale said.

“We will get you to the military hospital.”

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered, a tear escaping my eye.

“Keep your phone active,” he said. “I am contacting the military police and your attorney, Naomi Pierce.”

“I will be waiting,” I said.

I hung up the phone and leaned my head against the steering wheel.

The rain continued to beat down on the windshield, blurring the headlights of the streetlamps.