The officers and social worker who arrived at our door seemed devoid of compassion, their eyes cold and judgmental. They spoke of custody and charges, of losing my baby the moment he drew his first breath. It was surreal, like a bad dream I couldn’t wake from.

In the hospital, the stakes transformed from emotional to physical. The sharp, stabbing pain that erupted within me was undeniable, a visceral indicator that something was catastrophically wrong. I felt the blood, warm and unrelenting, a terrifying confirmation of my fears. Yet, Officer Mills stood unmoved, his skepticism a barrier as substantial as the door he blocked. He dismissed my pleas with an indifferent wave, choosing to see deceit where there was none.