“Get out of the car right now,” my mother ordered while rain hammered the highway and my three-day-old twins cried in their car seats, and when I begged her to stop because the babies were newborns, my father grabbed my hair and pushed me out onto the road while the car was still moving…

I remained kneeling there beside the highway holding my babies while rain poured over us and the red taillights disappeared into darkness. For several long moments my mind refused to accept what had happened, but Audrey’s cries finally forced me to move.

I wrapped both babies tightly in the thin hospital blankets and lifted their carriers with shaking arms while beginning the long walk toward distant lights that might lead to help. Each step felt impossible because my body had barely recovered from childbirth and every movement reopened the pain of torn stitches, yet I continued walking because stopping meant risking my children’s lives.

After what felt like endless hours a car slowed beside me and a middle aged stranger named Evelyn Dawson stepped out with concern in her eyes. She asked only one question before opening the back door of her vehicle. “Are you hurt and do those babies need warmth.”