One foot.
Then the other.
Cane in my free hand, sweeping lightly across the ground before me.
The world outside was familiar in its structure, even if I could never see it.
The sidewalk. The curb. The faint slope leading toward the building entrance.
The car didn’t linger.
The engine revved once before the vehicle pulled away, disappearing with startling speed.
For a man who had creepily followed me from Zara’s school, carried us home, and secretly cut a sample of her hair, Ramiro seemed strangely eager to leave.
I stood frozen on the sidewalk, Zara asleep against my chest.
Fear settled heavily in my stomach.
What if he was right?
What if Zara really was the missing child they were searching for?
The thought made my pulse stumble.
They could take her from me.
Legally. Forcefully.
And what would happen to me afterward?
I wasn’t her mother.
I had no documents. No proof. No claim.
Just three weeks of loving her.
Three weeks of feeding her, protecting her, holding her through nightmares and teaching her that not every adult wanted to hurt her.
Would that matter to anyone?
Or would they see only a blind woman harboring a child who didn’t belong to her?
A woman with no explanation anyone would believe.
The worst part was that I didn’t know.
I didn’t know whether I would lose Zara.
I didn’t know whether I would be accused of kidnapping her.
I didn’t know whether tomorrow would bring relief or destroy the fragile little life we had built together.
