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PROLOGUE
Dearest Mama~
If you don’t hear from me again, I’m dead.
I’m scared. This place is creepy. It’s dark and damp and smells really bad. Musty and medicinal, and I just saw a rat. Somewhere a girl is crying. It sounds like she’s in terrible pain. And when I went to use the bathroom, there was blood in the toilet. So much blood I almost threw up.
It didn’t look so bad on the outside; in fact, it looked like one of those beautiful homes you work in. All brick, two stories, with a shrub-and-flower-filled yard, and it overlooked a crystal-blue lake. An attractive woman in an elegant suit met me at the front door and instructed me to use a side entrance that led to the birthing clinic in the basement.
Right now, I’m sitting here all by myself in the waiting room on a hard wooden chair, one arm folded across my big, swollen belly. I so wish you were here with me, but I know that if you took a day off from work, that awful couple whose ginormous house you clean would fire you in a second. One day when I become a famous actress, you won’t have to work for people like that anymore. If I have it my way, you’ll never have to work again, and you and Em can live with me and my baby in our Beverly Hills mansion.
The girl’s crying is getting louder. It sounds like she’s dying! I want to cover my ears, but someone is calling out my name.
A woman in a white uniform. She’s tall and intimidating. Her name is Nurse Bates. I see it on her name tag. She flashed me a smile, so maybe she’s nice.
A high-pitched scream is mingling with the sobs, and someone just burst through the door to the delivery room. It’s a little girl with waist-length blonde ringlets who’s clad in a frilly pink dress. She looks a few years older than Em. Maybe age eight or nine. So pale, she looks like she just saw a ghost.
The nurse yelled at her to go upstairs. But first the poor little thing dashed to the bathroom before I could stop her. When she came back out, vomit was splattered all over her pretty dress. Our eyes connected, hers wide with terror, and then she ran up the stairs as fast as her feet could carry her.
A sharp voice is ringing out at the top of the stairs. “There you are, you naughty child! I’ve been looking all over for you! You should have NEVER gone down there!”
I recognize it. It’s the woman who met me at the front door. She sounds very angry. I can no longer see or hear the frightened little girl. Oh, Lord!! I hope she doesn’t get into trouble.
In the meantime, the sobs have gone silent. The girl before me must have had her baby. Now it’s my turn. I’m freaking out. More than a little.
I’m wearing the beautiful necklace with the small gold cross you gave me and hope it will bring me good luck. That it won’t hurt and there’ll be no complications.
Guess what?! The baby just kicked and I feel a tingle of excitement. I can’t wait to give birth and hold her in my arms. And I can’t wait for you and Em to meet her.
Sorry, I’ve got to go. Nurse Bates is giving me the stink eye. I’m going to give her this letter and ask her to mail it to you. I hope she’s someone I can trust.
Just one last thing…if something does happen to me or my baby, promise you’ll never forget the man who forced me to come to this horrible place.
And to NEVER forgive him.
He needs to pay.
Forever~ Your loving daughter
ONE
AVA
Now
They say pregnant women glow. You can’t say that about me.
I’m discombobulated.
Disheartened.
Disheveled.
I’m on crutches. My obstetrician prescribed them for me a month ago to help with my mobility, but I still haven’t gotten the hang of them. I awkwardly maneuver them, step by painful step, as I hobble through Starbucks, the one located close to UCLA, one of the most prestigious universities in all of California.
As I stand in line waiting to place an order, tears threaten to fall when crippling pain hits from two sides—a throb in my lower back followed by a stab in my groin. I silently groan. There are only two people ahead of me, but getting to the counter feels like a marathon.
Finally, it’s my turn. The spiky-haired barista, likely a college student, looks appalled by my sorry state. My contorted face and distorted body, not to mention my pallor and the bags under my eyes.
