DAHLIA

It’s been three days. Three days of hell. Three days of being locked up. 

This was the way of the rich and well connected. Zac’s manager would rather I died in prison. I didn’t even care about me, but my daughter.

Tears, which would flow with every thought of her, returned to the edge of my vision and blurred it once again. 

Haven. The baby I’d nurtured on my own when no one else had wanted to help. 

The baby I’d watched grow from toothless grins to pearly whites giggles. From incomprehensible chatters to her first word. From belly crawling to taking her first steps. 

From cooing at drawings...