I froze. My hand stopped halfway through folding a pair of socks.

An orange mugshot flashed on the screen.

It was her.

Her hair was looser, and there were deeper circles under her eyes, but it was Sarah.

The screen text didn’t say Sarah, though. It said: “Evelyn Vance, Age 58.”

“Vance is being charged with multiple counts of criminal trespass, grand theft of medical supplies, and practicing medicine without a license,” the reporter said. “Hospital officials state that she managed to evade security by wearing scrubs and stealing identification badges from retired employees. Authorities are calling her a highly sophisticated predator who targeted vulnerable mothers and infants.”

My phone slipped out of my hand and hit the hardwood floor. The sound was like a gunshot in my quiet room.

Predator?

They showed a clip of her being led into the county courthouse in handcuffs. She looked so small. She was wearing a baggy orange jumpsuit, and she was keeping her head down, trying to shield her face from the flashing cameras. Her wrists looked thin and fragile in the metal cuffs.

I sat there on the floor, looking at Leo’s blue cap resting on the sofa cushion. My brain genuinely stopped working for a second.

I knew what the news was saying. I knew she had broken the law. But I also knew that when I was d*ing in that bed, nobody else had cared. The hospital hadn’t cared. My own husband hadn’t cared.

Evelyn Vance had.

I didn’t sleep that night. I spent the hours searching online, trying to find out where they were holding her. It turned out her preliminary hearing was scheduled for Thursday morning at the county courthouse.

I called my boss at the hardware store and told him I couldn’t make my shift.

He threatened to fire me, but I didn’t care. I put Leo in his stroller, packed his blue knit cap in my purse, and drove my old Chevy down to the courthouse.

The courtroom was packed. There were reporters with cameras, hospital administrators in expensive suits, and a row of angry-looking security guards. Evelyn was sitting at the defense table next to a public defender who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world.

When the prosecutor stood up, he painted a terrifying picture. He called Evelyn a “threat to public safety” and demanded she be held on a high bond. He talked about “violating the sanctity of the medical system.”

Evelyn just sat there, staring at her own hands. She looked completely defeated.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I stood up from the wooden bench in the back. My knees were shaking, and my heart was pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“She saved my son!” I yelled. My voice sounded cracked and strange in the silent courtroom.

The bailiff immediately moved toward me, his hand resting on his belt. “Ma’am, sit down or you will be removed.”