At the shelter. The footsteps came closer.
I tightened my grip on the knife and pulled my baby against my chest. My body was still weak from the birth. Every muscle ached, every movement sent a dull warning through me, but fear gave me enough strength to stand.
Another branch snapped outside. Someone was coming. I held my breath. The door opened.
I raised the knife. “Stay back!”
A woman froze in the doorway.
For one terrible second I thought Blackridge had found me. Then I saw her face.
“Lydia?”
Her eyes widened. “Malia?”
The knife slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.
Lydia rushed inside and wrapped her arms around me. I nearly collapsed. She caught me and held on tightly.
“Oh, Malia.” Her voice broke. “I thought I would never find you.”
I closed my eyes. For months
