From the other side, she heard a soft whimper, then Bia’s quiet cry, thin and breaking. The executives were getting closer. Amanda was trapped between the fear of being discovered and the terror of her daughter feeling abandoned.
Who could she ask for help without being reported?
At that moment, the pantry door opened. An older woman appeared carrying a tray of coffee—Dona Cida. Kind eyes. Steady hands. The look of someone who’d seen too much life to scare easily.
“Amanda… what’s wrong, child? You’re pale.”
With her throat burning with shame, Amanda made the riskiest decision of her life.
She told her everything. The rent. The notice. The sick neighbor. The hidden baby. The locked door. Dona Cida pressed a hand to her chest.
“Dear Lord… a baby locked in there?”
“I know I did wrong… but I had no choice,” Amanda said, on the verge of tears.
Dona Cida didn’t judge her. She pulled out a keyring.
“I have a master key. Come.”
They ran. The door opened. Bia sat among the blankets, face red, tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, crying quietly, as if even crying needed permission. Amanda scooped her up, holding her tight, kissing her again and again.
“I’m here, my love. I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”