One evening she sensed someone trailing her. She clutched the basket tighter and walked faster. Then ran. Footsteps pounded behind her through slick streets. Her lungs burned. She cut through an alley and lost him—but when she reached Mrs. Evelyn Harper’s apartment, the only adult who had ever shown her kindness, she froze.
A black SUV idled at the curb.
Someone already knew.
And they weren’t there to help.
Isabella stood staring at the vehicle as rain traced lines down its windows. The babies stirred; one whimpered softly.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, though her own heart was racing.
Mrs. Harper cracked open her door. “Child—inside. Now.”
They slipped in just as a car door slammed outside. Mrs. Harper locked the door and switched off the lights.
“Who is it?” Isabella whispered.
“Trouble,” the older woman replied. “And trouble doesn’t scare easy.”
They stayed awake all night. Mrs. Harper warmed diluted milk while Isabella watched the window, flinching at every passing shadow.
At dawn, pounding fists shook the door.
“Open up! Police!”
Isabella’s stomach dropped. In Santa Esperanza, police rarely came with good news for poor kids.
“Don’t,” she begged.
But the knocks grew louder.