Chapter 1

My life felt perfect.

I was Sarah Miller, a graphic designer in my late twenties.

Happily married to Mark Henderson, an ambitious finance executive.

And I was pregnant. Four months along.

Our Chicago apartment was beautiful, upscale, filled with light.

I thought our future was a straight, bright line.

I cherished my well-being, my coming child.

I didn' t know then how fiercely I would need to protect it, or what strength I had inside.

That evening, Mark was late from work, as usual.

I was sketching nursery ideas, a soft smile on my face.

A sudden noise from the hallway.

Not Mark' s key in the lock.

Something else. A scrape. A thud.

I stood up, my hand going to my small, rounded belly.

"Mark?" I called out.

Silence.

Then the apartment door burst open.

Two men, faces covered by ski masks, rushed in.

I screamed.

One lunged, grabbing me.

His grip was like iron.

Pain exploded in my side as the other one hit me.

I fell, my head striking the edge of the coffee table.

Darkness swirled.

I heard them ransacking the living room, drawers pulled open, things crashing.

My baby. I curled around my stomach, trying to shield us.

Another kick. Sharp, agonizing.

Then, as suddenly as they came, they were gone.

The apartment was a wreck.

I lay there, bleeding, a raw terror gripping me.

I tried to reach my phone, but my vision blurred.

The last thing I remembered was the sound of Mark' s actual key, finally, in the lock.

His shocked cry, "Sarah!"

Then blackness.