Los Angeles, California – Winter 2018
The city was overwhelming, loud, and indifferent. But it didn’t know her—and that anonymity became a gift.
A kind older woman named Yolanda overheard Madison asking about rentals at a small grocery store. She invited her to stay in the spare room of her bungalow in East Hollywood until she could get on her feet.
Madison cried that night—not from fear, but from relief.
She worked every job she could find: selling vintage clothes online, cleaning offices, waitressing long shifts. She grew used to sleeping in three-hour intervals. Even when her belly grew heavy and her feet swollen, she never slowed down.
One afternoon in a laundromat, her body gave out.
Yolanda rushed her to the hospital, where—after sixteen hours of labor—two baby boys with identical dark curls and wide eyes were born.
Caleb and Micah.
Names she chose with intention. Names that meant “faithful” and “who is like God.”
Because she believed that even if the world forgot her, she’d never stop believing in them.
