Her baby cries, and I pull her to my chest, not wanting to wake her mama. “Shhh, little sparrow,” I whisper, looking out the cabin window at the turbulent rainstorm outside. “I got you now. It’s okay.” I hold her close, praying she doesn’t catch a cold, that she can recover from whatever hell her and her mama were running from. It’s a wild world out there, and nothing is sacred - not if you’ve seen what I’ve seen, or done what I’ve done. But as the baby falls asleep in my arms, I know these two will be stronger for getting through whatever they’ve overcome. If they can survive the storm,
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