Talia had begged the head supervisor to let her bring the baby. The neighbor who usually watched Ava had been rushed to the hospital that morning, and there had been no one else. Missing her shift would have meant losing the job, and losing the job would have meant losing the apartment, the groceries, and the fragile balance she had fought to maintain since becoming a mother.
She tried everything she knew. She offered a bottle. She hummed softly. She bounced and swayed and whispered promises she prayed she could keep. Nothing helped. The crying only grew louder.
Other staff members exchanged glances that were anything but kind. A woman folding linens nearby leaned toward another and muttered something under her breath while staring directly at Talia, as if she were an inconvenience that should never have been allowed inside.
The air felt tight. Every second stretched. Talia’s chest burned with panic.
Then footsteps sounded from the main staircase. They were slow and heavy, deliberate enough to command attention without effort. Conversation stopped. Movement froze. Even the whispers died away, though Ava’s cries continued to cut through the silence.