Elena’s POV

By the time we got home, Mila’s crying had turned raw.

Not the normal hungry cry. Not the tired one. This was sharp, strained—like something inside her was screaming along with her. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a fist.

“I’m here, baby,” I whispered, pacing the living room with her pressed to my chest. “Mama’s here. I’ve got you.”

I tried everything. Feeding. Rocking. Singing softly even though my voice shook. I checked her diaper again, ...