After Losing My Newborn Son, I Gave Everything I’d Bought Him to a Mother Begging with Her Baby – The Next Morning, My Lawn Was Covered with Dozens of Baby Strollers, Each Holding a Sealed Box

Elena pulled a heavy master keycard off a peg on the wall and slammed it into the door lock. The heavy electronic deadbolt clicked back, and the door swung open.

The room smelled of antiseptic and warmed infant formula. A terrified nurse in blue scrubs cowered in the corner, holding her hands in the air.

"Don't shoot!" she shrieked. "I’m just a contractor! I didn't know where the babies came from!"

"Shut up and sit down," Elena snapped, pointing her gun at the woman while keeping her eyes on the hallway.

I didn't care about the nurse. I didn't care about Vance, or Thomas, or the police sirens that were now wailing in the distance across the harbor.

I sprinted to the second bassinet.

My hands shook violently as I reached down and gently lifted the tiny bundle into my arms. He was light, so impossibly light, but he was warm. He squirmed against my chest, letting out a soft, tiny squeak as his dark eyes slowly opened, blinking up at me through the dim light.

I pulled back the edge of his blanket and looked at his left wrist.

There it was. A tiny, dark, star-shaped mole.

"Oh, baby," I sobbed, burying my face in the soft fabric of his blanket, smelling the sweet, unmistakable scent of my son. "I've got you. Mama's got you. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Noah squirmed again, his tiny hand reaching out to grab a stray lock of my hair. His grip was tight and strong.

Suddenly, the ship jolted violently.

The floor tilted beneath our feet, throwing Elena against the wall. Outside, the sound of a heavy diesel engine roared, followed by the deafening chop of helicopter blades overhead. Searchlights swept through the port holes, blindingly bright white against the red emergency glow.

"ATTENTION VESSEL AURELIA," a loud, amplified voice boomed from above. "THIS IS THE UNITED STATES COAST GUARD. HEAVE TO AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED IMMEDIATELY!"

"They're here," Elena breathed, a rare, genuine smile breaking across her blood-stained face. "It's over, Kate. We did it."

"Not yet," a weak, raspy voice hissed from the doorway.

We spun around.

Dr. Vance was leaning heavily against the doorframe, his face covered in blood, clutching a flare gun he had pulled from an emergency kit in the hallway. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and completely insane.

"If I go down, everything burns," Vance snarls, aiming the flare gun straight at the main fuel line running along the ceiling of the medical bay.