When I didn’t answer, he whacked me across the face—once to the right, once to the left, and another time to the right. Then he took my hair, wrapped it around his hand, and yanked so hard a clump came out. Sheer willpower was preventing me from letting go of my son’s legs. Then he hit me again on the right side of my cheek, this time with a closed fist. My vision sparkled and danced as I began to reel. As I was going down, he kicked me in the head and then twice on my right side in the ribs. I felt the crack. For good measure, he gave two final kicks—one in the stomach and one in the back. Still, I was clinging on to my son’s feet. It wasn’t until the siren came into earshot that the men panicked, saying something about a neighbor hearing the noise and calling the police. One final twist and then a hard jerk that brought an electric wave of pain through both arms, and my baby was gone, leaving me empty except for his small polkadot Vans still in my hand. I brought it up to my face, balled myself up into a fetal position, and then things went quiet, then dark.

When I awoke, I hadn’t any idea of how long I’d been out. Only that things were silent and I was in excruciating pain. My right arm was dangling uselessly by my side, my jaw was throbbing, my head was ringing and pounding, and my face was on fire. I tried to stand, but as soon as I moved, my sides caved in and a new wave of pain and nausea coursed through my body. My nose felt clogged and runny at the same time, and as I wiped it with my left hand, I saw blood.

The siren that I had heard must have been from an ambulance or a police car passing by, because no one had come to save me. Since it was summer, it was still light outside, with the sun filtering in through the top of the curtain. I always kept them closed, but the gap at the top allowed me to see if it was day or night.

I lifted my head, and through swollen lids, I could make out my purse. I inched over, doing a soldier’s crawl to a side table next to the couch, and yanked it down with my left hand. The contents spilled out, including three phones: my personal cell and two pay-as-you-go burners that I picked up a few days ago from Walmart. I retrieved one of the burners and called my son in New York. Gabe answered after the third ring, thinking it was his father, but then he heard my voice and asked what was wrong.