My eyes blurred and my stomach heaved. I put my face in my palms, chest burning and shoulders shaking. Oh, god. My girls. Where are my girls? I hadn’t considered what it would feel like, seeing other children out in the world. In jail, I’d been protected from this particular brand of torture. What I felt in that moment was a prison all its own, with walls built out of shame, self-loathing, and blistering regret.
When I looked up again, I saw the blond-haired woman set her child on the ground and make her way back toward the group of parents she had been talking with at the swings. I watched as the little girl spun in circles, her head down, giggling as her dress whirled out from her body. She gave a small jump, and then did it again, spinning and spinning and spinning, only to finally stumble and fall over. Her head bounced on the black rubber mat of the playground.
I raced over next to her and squatted down. “Are you okay, honey?” I asked, pushing back the fine hair of her bangs from her sweet face. She was whimpering and tearful, though not loudly. I glanced over at her mother, and saw that her back was to us; she was busy talking with her friends. She hadn’t seen the fall. “Did you hurt yourself?” I asked the girl, and she nodded, pushing out her tiny and pink, chubby lower lip.
I gathered her into my arms and lifted her up. Her skin was warmed by the sun. She smelled sweet, like strawberries, tinged with just a touch of summer sweat. I squeezed her to my body, then started to feel dizzy, and my heart began to race. I closed my eyes and felt as though I’d been sucked through the dark vacuum of a black hole, back to that small room with my babies, holding them for the last time.
No, I thought. No, no, no.
The child struggled against my embrace, pushing at my chest with her small hands, but not with enough strength to break free. I held her tighter. “Shh,” I murmured. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”
This time, when the little girl cried out the word “Mama!” all I could hear was Brooke’s voice. All I could think of was getting away, saving my daughter, not letting anyone take her. Blinking fast, I shifted my eyes toward the blond-haired woman, and at the same moment, she turned and saw me. “Hey!” she called out. She strode in my direction, arms swinging at her sides. “Hey!” she said again, louder this time, and with more urgency.
A river of discordant noises raged inside my head—a jarring, crashing cacophony of sound. I can’t let them take her. I can’t.
Before I knew what I was doing, I spun around, the little girl still safe in my arms, and headed toward the woods, running as fast as I could.
“Mama, Mama, Mama!”
“Shh, honey, shh,” I said. I had one arm wrapped around her body, holding her to me. With my other hand, I cupped her head, pushing her face into the curve of my neck as I ran, trying to protect it from the whip-sharp sting of the branches that scratched at my bare arms. I felt the heat of her tears on my skin, her tiny rib cage heaving against mine.
We’ll be okay. We just have to get away. Then no one can take her.
Each step I took crunched atop the pine needles covering the ground. There was no path. No easy way to snake through the trees. But I didn’t think. I didn’t stop. I had no idea where I was going or how far I’d already gone. The only thing I could do was run.
“I want my mama!” the girl cried, and a chunk of her straight brown hair flew up and blinded me.
Wait. Brooke’s hair is curly, like mine.
I wasn’t carrying my daughter. The realization reverberated through me, like a church bell being struck inside my head.
It took only this brief moment of distraction for the tip of my toe to catch on a thick root. My foot twisted, sending a sharp spike of pain from my ankle, up my shin, and into my knee. Both of us tumbled, and the girl flew out of my arms, landing hard against the trunk of a tall evergreen a couple of yards away.
Her cries got louder then, and despite having the air knocked out of me from hitting the ground, I managed to crawl over to her. She had a large cut on her forehead; it gushed bright red blood down the left side of her face. Oh, god, I thought as I took in her unfamiliar features. What did I do?
“It’s okay, sweetie,” I said, managing to sit up. I ripped off the bottom of my shirt and pressed it as hard as I could over the wound on her head. I heard people shouting behind me, though I couldn’t make out what they said. “I’m so sorry,” I told her. “Let me take you to your mama, okay?”