Isabel woke up the next morning with a hollowness in her chest that made it hard to breathe. Her body ached from the ordeal of childbirth, and her heart felt like it had been shattered into a thousand pieces. She tried to push away the memories of the previous night—the cries of her baby, the way she’d kissed Adriana goodbye, the way she’d run from the church like a coward. But they clung to her like a shadow.

Dragging herself out of the makeshift bed on the cold floor, Isabel brushed the dust off her worn dress and pocketed the little money she had left. The woman who had helped...