The woman in the fur coat scoffed. “You should be grateful. We will raise her properly. She will grow up in actual society, not in some rundown apartment.”
Vivienne waved a hand. “You will sign or we will take her anyway. Your signature just saves us the trouble.”
I signed because I knew if I fought then and there I would lose everything. I needed time. I needed strength. I needed a plan. My hands shook as I traced the letters of my name, Celina Rhodes.
They let me hold my baby for five minutes. Five short, aching minutes. She smelled like milk and miracle. I kissed her forehead.
“I will come back for you. I promise.”
Then they took her from me. They took her. And they left me.
The hospital staff wheeled me to the emergency exit. Outside, Chicago was in the grip of a brutal blizzard. Snow whipped sideways like stinging needles. I wore only a thin gown and hospital socks. Someone thrust a plastic bag of my belongings at me. My body throbbed with pain and fresh stitches. A taxi driver saw me shivering under the flickering streetlight and took pity, unlocking his door and shouting for me to hurry before the cold killed me.