Camilla hadn’t slept. Not truly. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the clipboard, the inspector’s pen scratching against paper, the fridge door hanging open.
They’re going to say I can’t even feed my child...
She sat curled on the couch, one hand on her belly, the other cradling a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Outside, rain tapped against the windows, soft and relentless. Each drop felt like an echo of her anxiety, tapping on her mind as much as the glass. Her phone buzzed a few times—Ethan, Ethan’s mother—but she couldn’t answer. Her body felt like it had gone underwater, the world around her distant and hollow. Every sound felt muffled, every breath shallow. She couldn’t reach for him—couldn’t make her fingers move.
The pain hit, sudden and sharp, dragging her back to real
