Love for the infant in her arms tightened her chest. She had been so afraid she wouldn’t be able to love her, that she would feel the same loathing and revulsion for the child as she did for the monster responsible for creating her, who shared her genes. What if she’d looked like Pike? What if she had his darkness, his evil? What if every time Hannah looked at her, she saw her captor reflected in her child’s eyes? But she didn’t. She looked like Hannah. She looked like a baby: innocent and blameless. Pike had no part in this. Her daughter was hers and hers alone.
