Later, Eleanor spoke quietly.
“You love her,” she said. “That much is obvious. But love does not protect a child from illness or hunger. I can.”
Olivia signed the papers two days later.
She kissed Lily until her lips trembled, holding her as tightly as she dared, memorizing every sound of her breathing.
“I love you forever,” Olivia whispered.
Lily screamed when the car pulled away, her small hands pressed against the glass, calling for her mother until the sound broke something in Olivia that never healed.
Weeks passed. Olivia drifted through her days without purpose, without identity. Eventually, she returned to the neighborhood where Eleanor lived. She stood across the street, hidden behind trees, watching her daughter through iron gates.
Lily wore clean clothes and new shoes. She looked smaller somehow. Quieter.
Eleanor noticed. “You made your choice,” she said coldly when she confronted Olivia. “Do not come here again.”
The police came shortly after. The charges were heavy. The trial was swift. The sentence was devastating.
