She left the hospital with nothing.
No child.
No family.
No name that could open doors without cutting her.
Just a coat from the nurse's closet, a bruised body, and a prepaid phone with no contacts.
The cab ride drained half the money Todd had left her.
She didn't care.
She never wanted to owe him again.
---
The shelter smelled like bleach and boiled rice.
A woman at the front desk gave her a clipboard. “Name?"
Sylvia hesitated. “...Arden."
“Last name?"
“Just Arden."
The woman nodded. “You'll have a cot, hot meals, and clothes in the back. We rotate chores."
“No questions?"
“Not until you're ready."
---
She learned to vanish by degrees.
Cut her hair.
Avoided mirrors.
Worked under-the-table jobs: hemming pants, formatting flyers, cleaning night offices.
People paid in
