Chapter 2 The Loose Baby
The sound of hurried footsteps and faint shouts echoed down the narrow prison hallway.
“Hurry! She’s bleeding!” several guards rushed in.
Rose writhed on the cold floor, her body trembling violently. Blood streamed between her legs, mixing with amniotic fluid. Her vision blurred, yet her hands still clutched her belly.
“Please … my baby …” Her voice was barely audible.
Two female guards and a medic came running with a stretcher. “Lift her up! Don’t let her pass out!”
They hoisted Rose onto the stretcher, her body stiff with pain. Every jolt of the wheels across the concrete made her want to scream. In the cramped infirmary, the harsh white light stabbed her eyes.
“Push! Push again!” the prison midwife shouted.
“Aahg … it hurts so much.”
“Come on, ma’am, the baby’s crowning! Don’t give up now. For your baby, push!” The midwife pressed a hand to Rose’s shoulder.
Rose screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Please, save him … my baby!” Her voice broke as she pushed with every last ounce of strength her body had left.
Her body went limp. Through the haze of her vision, she heard a faint cry a baby’s cry, weak but real. Rose tried to lift her head, but she had no strength left.
“My baby … where’s my baby …” she whispered brokenly.
The staff exchanged uneasy glances. One of the guards stepped forward, her expression blank. “Your baby … didn’t make it.”
Rose stared at her in disbelief, her voice cracking. “That’s not true… I heard him cry!”
The guard shook her head quickly. “You must have imagined it. We’ll take care of everything.”
Rose tried to sit up, but a syringe pierced her arm. The sedative burned through her veins, and the world began to fade.
In the fog of her fading consciousness, she heard someone whisper to the guard,
“It’s a boy. Someone’s willing to pay a good price to adopt him.”
A single tear slid down the corner of Rose’s eye. The world went black. Every sound slipped away into silence.
“No, that’s not my baby! My baby’s alive! You sold him, didn’t you? Where did you take him?”
Rose screamed in the clinic, her voice hoarse. No one answered. Instead, they handed her a pale baby girl, one she knew wasn’t hers.
Four years later.
The midday air outside the prison felt foreign. Rose stepped out holding a single piece of paper, her parole release. Her hair was shorter now, her skin pale, her eyes hollow. She lifted her face toward the open sky, the sunlight stinging her eyes.
“I’m free …” she whispered.
But freedom felt empty. No one waited.
No home to return to.
She rented a tiny apartment and began her search for work cafés, factories, bakeries on the city’s edge. The answer was always the same.
“Sorry, we don’t hire ex-convicts.”
Each rejection twisted her chest tighter. She bowed her head, murmured thanks, and walked away quietly.
That evening, after silencing her hunger with a piece of bread she’d just bought, a light drizzle began to fall. Rose sat on a park bench, weak and shivering. She drank from a public fountain, staring at the streetlights flickering to life, watching raindrops gather on the petals of the flowers nearby.
“If you’re still alive, my child … I hope you have a warm home,” she murmured softly, eyes on the sky praying to no one in particular.
A small voice broke the silence.
“Miss … my car’s wheel fell off.”
Rose turned. A little boyabout four years old stood before her, holding a red toy car. His round eyes sparkled with innocence.
“The wheel fell off. Can you fix it?”
Rose smiled faintly. Something warm bloomed in her chest as she looked into those bright eyes. “Let me see.”
She took the toy, pressed the tiny axle back in place, and handed it to him.
“There. Your car’s good as new.”
The boy giggled. “Wow! You’re amazing! Thank you!” He bounced with delight.
Rose couldn’t help but smile. That laughter ,it was warm, pure, as if it healed a wound deep inside her.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Alan!” he chirped. “My dad’s over there!”
Rose followed his small finger. Not far away stood a man in a gray suit and dark sunglasses. His features were sharp, his aura cold and commanding. He was looking at his phone, but when his gaze lifted and saw Alan with a stranger, his expression hardened.
“Alan!” His voice was deep, cutting. He strode toward them, eyes narrowing at Rose.
“Who are you? What are you doing with my son?”
Rose flinched. “Sir, I wasn’t ”
He grabbed her arm roughly. “How dare you approach my child? Were you trying to kidnap him?”
Alan tried to pull at his father’s hand. “Dad! She just fixed my car! You’re wrong!”
“Quiet, Alan!” the man snapped.
Rose winced, struggling. “You’re hurting me, sir! I didn’t mean any harm!”
“Typical excuse from criminals. You thought you could trick my son and demand ransom?” His voice was cold. “You really think I’d believe a filthy, ragged woman like you?”
Tears welled in Rose’s eyes. “I just wanted to help your son … I’m not a kidnapper.”
People nearby began whispering. One woman leaned toward another.
“Look at her she fits the description. The landlord said she’s the ex-convict who just moved into Block Eight.”
Rose’s ears burned. Her heart shattered all over again. “Please, let me go. I’m innocent,” she said weakly.
The man didn’t budge. “You’re coming with me to the police. I’m not taking any chances.”
“No, Dad!” Alan cried. “She’s nice! Please, Dad, you’re wrong!”
Mr. Evan dragged Rose down the park path, his grip unrelenting. She tried to resist, but her body was frail. “Sir, please, I’m begging you let me explain!”
Evan stopped for a moment and met her eyes. His gaze was sharp, piercing. “Then prove it at the police station,” he said flatly.
Rose stared back his face was handsome, his jaw firm, but his eyes were cold, merciless. She knew instantly this man held power.
A park guard whispered to a passerby, “That’s Mr. Evan, owner of Gacors Corp. Filthy rich, but known for his temper.”
Rose heard the whisper, lowered her head, her breath trembling. “Whatever you think I am, I’m not a criminal,” she murmured.
Evan snorted. “We’ll see about that.”
He tightened his grip and dragged her toward a black car parked by the curb. Alan ran after them, crying.
“Dad! Don’t take her! She’s not bad!”
But Evan didn’t listen. He opened the door and pushed Rose inside.
Rose looked out the window Alan stood on the sidewalk, crying, calling out for her as the rain blurred the glass.
“Enough, Alan!” Evan barked, sliding into the driver’s seat.
Rose sat motionless, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. After a day of searching for work, this is how it ends? Accused of kidnapping a child?
She stared at the man in front of her, his jaw tense as he started the engine.
“You’re making a mistake, sir,” she whispered shakily.
Evan’s tone was cold. “We’ll see when we get to the station.”
Rose looked at her reflection in the fogged-up window. In her heart, a fragile voice trembled:
Four years of losing everything … and now, even kindness is a crime.
The car drove of
f into the rainy twilight.
Behind them, Alan’s cries faded into the distance soft, echoing, hauntingly familiar to Rose’s aching heart.
