Catalina woke up feeling cold. The stone floor had left her bones aching. Her back hurt and her palm throbbed where she'd cut it. The bleeding had stopped but the wound felt tight and raw.
She sat up slowly, one hand pressed against her stomach. The baby was still there, still safe. For now.
Gray morning light crept through a narrow window near the ceiling. It barely reached the floor. The cell was small—maybe eight feet across. It had stone walls, a thin cot she hadn't made it to and a bucket in the corner.
She listened closely. From the next room, she could hear breathing. It came out soft and steady. Gabriel was asleep.
Relief hit her so hard she almost cried. He was alive and close by. That was something.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Catalina pushed herself to her feet
