Chapter 2

Exactly twenty-eight days had passed since they locked me inside this sterile white cage.

Every single morning, a doctor walked into my room. He told me I was suffering from severe delusions.

He said my mind broke when my husband jumped into the river.

"You need to rest, Helena," the doctor would say smoothly. "You need to accept that your baby is in a better place right now."

Yesterday, the daily routine changed.

Mrs. Smith stepped inside. Two massive, cruel-looking orderlies stood right behind her. She threw a thick stack of legal papers onto my narrow bed.

"Sign them," Mrs. Smith demanded coldly. "These documents terminate your parental rights forever. They give me full, permanent custody of Arthur. And also a divorce paper, withdrawing all your rights to Troy’s estate."

I backed away from the bed. "I will never sign those," I cried. "He is my son!"

Mrs. Smith did not blink. She simply nodded to the two large men.

The orderlies lunged forward. They grabbed my arms with brutal force. They slammed me down into the hard wooden chair. I kicked and screamed, but they were too strong.

One orderly grabbed my right arm. He twisted my wrist backward until a sharp, blinding pain shot up to my shoulder. I gasped loudly.

Mrs. Smith walked over to me. She grabbed a handful of my messy hair and pulled my head back violently. She forced a heavy black pen into my shaking fingers.

"You will sign," Mrs. Smith hissed directly into my ear. "If you do not sign, I will have these men break your fingers one by one. And then, I will make sure Arthur grows up thinking his mother was a filthy, crazy whore who killed herself. I will erase your entire existence."

Tears streamed down my face. The orderly twisted my arm harder. I felt my bones groaning under the intense pressure.

The physical pain was absolute agony. But the thought of Arthur forgetting my face hurt even more.

I sobbed loudly. My hand shook violently. I pressed the pen to the paper and scribbled my broken signature on every single page.

Mrs. Smith snatched the papers away. She dropped my hair and walked out of the room. The orderlies let go of my bruised arms and followed her.

The heavy door locked behind them.

I fell to the cold floor. I curled into a tight ball and cried until my throat bled.

I closed my eyes. I blocked out the bright fluorescent lights.

I forced my mind to remember the warmth of the past. I needed to remember who I used to be.

Right after graduation, Troy and I designed our dream home together. We sat on the floor of our tiny apartment.

We spread massive sheets of blueprint paper across the cheap carpet. We drank cheap wine and laughed until our stomachs hurt.

"I want huge windows," Troy had said. He kissed my cheek gently. "I want the morning sun to wake us up every single day."

"And a large nursery," I had added happily. "Painted soft yellow. A safe haven for our family."

We built that perfect house on paper. It was full of light and love.

It was supposed to be our forever home. Now, I was trapped in a nightmare of cold concrete and locked steel doors.

The beautiful memory shattered into a million pieces. But the sharp pain did not make me cry anymore.

That cruel visit from Mrs. Smith did not break me. It woke me up. The heavy grief turned into pure, burning fury.

I opened my eyes. I pushed myself off the floor. I was done crying.

I stopped swallowing their terrible sedatives. When the nurse handed me the small paper cup that evening, I placed the heavy white pills under my tongue. I smiled. I drank the water. I waited until she locked my door. Then, I ran to the small bathroom and spit the pills into the toilet.

I started studying my prison.

I memorized the exact timing of the security rotations. I watched the heavy metal doors open and close. I counted the seconds it took for the electronic locks to engage.

I mapped out the blind spots where the security cameras could not see me.

I realized the perfect moment to escape was exactly at six in the evening.

I waited by my door. I looked at the small clock on the wall.

Five fifty-nine.

Six o'clock.

The electronic lock on my door clicked loudly. The nurses always unlocked the doors for the evening meal delivery.

I pushed the door open just an inch. I peeked into the bright hallway.

Nurses were talking loudly at the main desk. A doctor was arguing on the telephone. No one was looking at my room.

I slipped out of my door. I moved silently down the hallway. I stayed perfectly in the camera's blind spot. I reached the small supply closet near the staff elevators.

A large, gray laundry cart sat unattended in the corner.

I moved quickly. I dug my hands into the pile of dirty hospital linens. At the very bottom, I found exactly what I needed. It was a dark blue cleaning uniform. A careless staff member had thrown it in with the patient sheets.

I pulled the blue uniform over my white hospital clothes. It was slightly too big, but it hid my identity completely. I tied my messy hair back into a tight bun. I grabbed a yellow mop bucket from the closet.

I took a deep breath. I pushed the bucket out into the hallway.

I walked right past the main security desk.

"Have a good night," a guard called out.

"You too," I mumbled softly.

I did not stop walking.

I pushed the yellow bucket down the long corridor toward the back of the building.

I reached the heavy metal service doors. The sign above them read 'Staff Exit Only'.

I pressed my hand against the cold metal bar. I pushed hard.

The door clicked open.

I stepped outside. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind me. The lock engaged with a loud, final sound.

The freezing air hit my face.