Rain followed her from the hospital to the curb.
The coat they gave her was two sizes too big. The bag in her hand wasn't hers—just a stranger's sympathy packed in borrowed fabric.
No one came to pick her up.
Not Todd.
Not Camila.
Not even a driver.
She stood under the flickering awning, soaked, cradling the emptiness in her belly.
Then she walked.
---
A women's shelter took her in.
They asked no questions, just handed her a clipboard with intake forms.
“Emergency contact?" the volunteer asked gently.
Sylvia stared at the blank space.
“I don't have one."
---
She lay in a bunk that night, too tired to cry.
The lights buzzed overhead.
Around her, other women whispered in the dark. Some prayed. Some dreamed aloud.
Sylvia stared at the ceiling, hands on her stomach.
“I'm sor
