Not the kind where I can pull a blanket around my shoulders and wait for my body to settle.
This cold is inside my bones.
It lives in my fingers.
In my toes.
I try to move, but my wrists pull tight against something rough.
Rope.
My eyes snap open.
For a few seconds, nothing makes sense.
Concrete floor. Dim light. Low ceiling.
A water heater humming somewhere in the corner.
Dust. Old shelves.
A basement.
I’m in a basement.
My heart slams so hard pain flashes through my ribs.
“Livy.”
My voice comes out cracked and weak.
Something moves beside me.
“Mama?”
I turn my head too fast and nearly black out again.
Livy is sitting next to me on the floor, one arm tucked against her stomach, her little face bruised and streaked with tears.
But she’s awake.
She’s breathing.
She’s here.
“Oh, thank God.” I try to reach for her, but the rope around my wrists stops me. “Baby, are you okay?”
She nods, but her chin trembles.
“Yeah.” Her voice breaks. “I think so. I tried to untie your hands, but the knot is too tight.”
“That’s okay, baby,” I say, seeing her cradled arm. “How’s your arm?”
“It hurts.”
“Your head?”
“Hurts too.”
