I became a mother at seventeen—and my parents took my baby from me. Now, twenty-one years later, the man living next door looks exactly like the child I lost.

“I heard him,” I insisted.

She told me to rest.

A doctor appeared. Someone gave me something.

When I woke up, it felt like something inside me had been hollowed out.

I asked again,
“Where is my baby?”

She turned a page in her magazine and said,