I signed because I knew if I fought then and there I would lose everything. I needed time. I needed strength. I needed a plan. My hands shook as I traced the letters of my name, Celina Rhodes.
They let me hold my baby for five minutes. Five short, aching minutes. She smelled like milk and miracle. I kissed her forehead.
“I will come back for you. I promise.”
Then they took her from me. They took her. And they left me.
The hospital staff wheeled me to the emergency exit. Outside, Chicago was in the grip of a brutal blizzard. Snow whipped sideways like stinging needles. I wore only a thin gown and hospital socks. Someone thrust a plastic bag of my belongings at me. My body throbbed with pain and fresh stitches. A taxi driver saw me shivering under the flickering streetlight and took pity, unlocking his door and shouting for me to hurry before the cold killed me.
I spent that night in a city shelter, lying on a metal cot, my abdomen pulsing with agony, my breasts already swelling with milk for a child I was not allowed to feed. I felt myself slipping into a darkness so deep it felt like drowning. But grief did not kill me. It sharpened me. There, rock bottom became the foundation under my feet.
Three days later, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a leather briefcase found me. He walked past the other women like he belonged there, though his crisp suit said otherwise.
“Excuse me. I am looking for Celina Rhodes.”
I sat up slowly. “I am Celina.”
He nodded stiffly. “My name is Russell Devereux. I am an estate attorney. I have been searching for you for several years. Your father, Gareth Rhodes, left behind substantial holdings. The legal disputes surrounding the estate have concluded. Everything is yours.”
I blinked, thinking exhaustion had twisted his words into fantasy. “I do not understand. My father was a mechanic. He had nothing.”
Russell opened his briefcase. Inside were folders thicker than encyclopedias.
“Gareth Rhodes was not only a mechanic. He was a silent investor in several major patent developments and two tech companies. His partner attempted to hide the truth and usurp control after his death. But we won.”
He handed me a document. My hands trembled.
“The estate has been valued at one point two eight billion dollars.”
It felt like the floor tilted. I grabbed the side of the cot to stay upright.