I went to tell the most feared mob boss in the city that I was pregnant with twins, but I caught him with my sister instead.

Evelyn spent the next thirty-six hours on foot, trudging through knee-deep snow across the state line into Vermont.

Her body screamed with pain. Every step sent sharp aches through her lower back, and her hips felt as though they were being pulled apart by the weight of her pregnancy. But fear was a powerful anesthetic.

By the time she reached a truck stop outside Burlington, her boots were soaked through, her coat was covered in frost, and she was experiencing mild, terrifying contractions.

She collapsed into a booth in the back of the diner.

The waitress, a kind-faced woman with tired eyes, took one look at Evelyn’s blue lips and heavy belly and immediately called an ambulance.

"No... no police," Evelyn gasped, grabbing the woman’s wrist. "Please. No records."

The waitress looked at her closely, seeing the raw terror in the young woman's eyes, and understood. "My cousin is a midwife," the woman whispered softly. "She lives three miles down the road. I’ll take you myself."

In a warm, wood-heated farmhouse outside Burlington, Evelyn lay on a sofa while a gentle woman named Sarah monitored her contractions with a wooden stethoscope.

"The babies are stressed, sweetie," Sarah told her, wiping Evelyn’s sweaty forehead with a warm cloth. "You’re six months along. You need to rest, or you’re going to deliver them right now."