Instead, she tightened her hold on the child, pulling the small form closer to her heart, as if protecting it from every hardship the world might impose.
“Shh…” she breathed softly, her voice wavering. “It’s okay… I’m here.”
The infant moved slightly but remained quiet. Perhaps it could already sense the brittle peace she was struggling so fiercely to maintain.
Her name was Stacy.
And she had no destination left.
Hours before, she had stood outside a cramped, dilapidated apartment door—the final place she had hoped to call her own. But even that refuge had been stripped away. The shouting, the hostility, the door crashing shut in her face… it all vibrated in her mind like a malicious refrain.
“You and that child are not my responsibility!”
Those words had pierced more deeply than any physical blow.
So she traveled on foot.
She wandered without aim, without a strategy, cradling the baby with shaking arms until her strength failed. The park had simply appeared. Quiet. Vacant. A sanctuary where no one would demand explanations.
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