My baby is due in two weeks. Hand on my bump, I swear to my little girl, I won't be anything like my mother.
I'm walking home after the perfect baby shower, enjoying the cool summer evening breeze. I can't wait to rest my aching feet.
I'm almost at my door when the world goes black.
I wake with a blinding pain in my head. Beeping of machines in background. I open my eyes to a white room.
Panic jolts through me. I reach down to my bump, to where my baby should be. But she's not there.
Then my fingers find a rough line of stitches.
Someone has taken my baby.
Out of me.