When I woke up, she was gone.
Panic tore through me as I scrambled to my feet, searching the field house. I called out, my voice breaking, but there was no answer. My baby—my precious baby—was gone.
I ran outside, the cold biting into my skin, but I didn’t care. I ran and ran, searching the endless fields, my heart pounding in terror. But there was nothing. No sign of her.
Desperation drove me to the highway. The sound of an approaching car made me stumble forward, waving my arms. The last thing I saw was the blinding glare of headlights before the impact.
And then—darkness.
When I woke again, the scent of antiseptic filled my nose. I blinked against the harsh hospital lights, my body heavy and aching. And then the memories crashed down on me.
My baby.
I tried to sit up, but pain held me down. Tears filled my eyes.
“Where’s my baby?” I whispered.
No one answered.
“My baby!” I screamed, my voice raw and frantic. “Where is my baby?!”
Wires and tubes were attached to my arms, restricting my movements, but I thrashed against them, my heart pounding wildly. My hands clutched the sheets, my nails digging into my palms as I fought against the overwhelming panic.