The January wind cut through New York City like shards of ice.
At five in the morning, Hannah Brooks was on her knees scrubbing the marble floor of an office building restroom in Midtown. Her hands were red from chemicals and cold water, her back aching from hours of work.
Then her phone vibrated in her pocket.
The number on the screen made her heart drop.
It was the daycare.
No one called at five in the morning unless something was wrong.
“Hannah?” the teacher’s voice said quickly. “Your daughter has a high fever. She’s been coughing all night. We can’t keep her here if she’s sick. You need to come pick her up immediately.”
The call ended before Hannah could even respond.
For a moment, she just stood there, frozen.
Her daughter Lily was only eight months old—the only family she had left in the world.
Without thinking, Hannah grabbed her coat and ran out of the building.
