My baby is due in two weeks. Hand on my bump, I swear to my little girl, I won’t be anything like my mother.

I’m walking home after the perfect baby shower, enjoying the cool summer evening breeze. I can’t wait to rest my aching feet.

I’m almost at my door when the world goes black.

I wake with a blinding pain in my head. Beeping of machines in background. I open my eyes to a white room.

Panic jolts through me. I reach down to my bump, to where my baby should be. But she’s not there.

Then my fingers find a rough line of stitches.

Someone has taken my baby.

Out of me.