On the balcony, I told my husband I was afraid. He laughed and said, “You’re always afraid.” I begged, “Marcus, please. For the baby.” I reached for the door. He stepped forward and pushed me back. Five floors below, metal crushed, bones screamed, but I lived. Inside the party, he said, “She slipped.” Minutes later, he was on his knees begging… “You’re embarrassing me,” Marcus hissed, his breath reeking of strong liquor and rage. “People expect to see a happy family, not this pathetic display.” I backed away until my spine hit the freezing glass railing. Snow fell heavily on the fifth-floor balcony, blanketing the city below in white. Inside, the jazz music and laughter of the lavish party continued, oblivious to the danger lurking just outside. “I just need a moment to rest,” I pleaded, clutching my six-month-pregnant belly. “Please, Marcus. For the baby…” “For the baby?” He scoffed, stepping closer, trapping me in the corner. “You always use the baby as an excuse. Can’t you just be a competent wife for once?” His eyes changed. He was no longer the husband I loved, but a hateful stranger. He gripped my arm, his nails digging into my skin. “Marcus, you’re hurting me!” “You always make me the villain,” he whispered, his voice colder than the winter wind. A shove. Not a struggle, but a decisive, cruel motion. My heels slipped on the icy snow. The world tilted. The slippery glass railing couldn’t hold me. I felt the empty space swallow me whole. In that terrifying instant, I saw Marcus’s face—not filled with regret, but with a chilling indifference. I plummeted from the fifth floor, my scream torn away by the wind. I closed my eyes, thinking of my unborn child, praying for a miracle. And then, a brutal, metallic impact shattered the darkness… 𝙰𝚜 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝