It was late afternoon when my car just stopped moving, right there on the quiet stretch of highway buried under a violent blizzard.
The whiteout was so thick that I could barely see my own hands on the steering wheel—then totally nothing but snow.
My phone screen flashed ‘No Service’ for the third time.
The tight waves of contractions kept hitting me closer and closer.
I was 38 weeks pregnant, but this was unlike anything I had prepared for.
Alone, scared, and stranded, the silence outside was broken only by the muffled howling of wind.
Then, a faint motorcycle headlight slowly appeared in the distance, like a beacon through the swirling white darkness.
That beam of light, so small and hesitant, felt almost wrong in the chaos.
I wasn’t sure if it meant help or danger, or something in between.
It unsettled me more than the blizzard itself because it suggested someone else was out here.
