I pick up the baby's diaper bag. I open the bag and the first thing I see is a note. I want to read it, but I am scared at what it will say. I carefully unfold the note. It has a message from Nathan printed in blocky man writing.

They are always watching. Be careful. You are important.

I am important? What does that even mean? Important to who? Before I have time to contemplate this, Addison wakes up and starts to scream at the top of her lungs. I can feel the beginning of a headache in my temple, but I push that pain and the pain in my body to the back of my mind as I go over to Addison. I gently unclip her and take her out of the carrier, which will undoubtedly be where she will be sleeping until I make it back home. If I make it back home. I lift her up into my arms, groaning at the pain that rushes through my broken body.

The next week passes excruciatingly slow. I spend my time sleeping, eating, and caring for the baby. I have to fight every moment to keep it together. If I did not have Addison, I truly do not know what I would be doing right now. She is what keeps me from becoming depressed in this intolerable cell. Sometimes I wish for an end to the silence down here, but then I listen to the precious sound of Addy's heartbeat and I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I then groan in pain as my broken ribs remind me that was a bad idea.

My mind is never quite, despite my best attempts to shut it up. It keeps running in circles, trying to figure out what might have gotten us into this position. A thousand possibilities rolled through my mind that week, but they all seemed so outlandish. Then again, imprisoning a teenager and a baby for breaking no obvious laws doesn't exactly sound reasonable.

I hate that I do not know how my family is doing. I hate that I have no way to contact them since no-one in here will even talk to me. They bring me food and whatever baby supplies I need, but then they leave right away. Always refusing to even acknowledge my existence past handing me the plate or whatever they are giving me.

I worry the most for my little brother. He is just a child, and I can only imagine what he must be going through. Will he be able to stay with my parents, or will they separate them all? These thoughts plague my consciousness in such an indescribably horrible way because I have no way to know. I hope they aren't worried about me, but I know it is useless to think. They will worry about me and the baby.

Everything changes (again) when a soldier's boots clomp down the long hallway. He appears around the corner and tells me to gather all of my things and the baby. He says that I am going to court, but refuses to specify any further than that. I pack the few items I have into Addison's diaper bag.

I know that I must look disgusting. I have not had a shower or a change of clothing in a week. I can feel the grease in my hair, the sticky sweat, and dried blood coating my skin. I finish packing everything away. I sling the bag over my shoulder and I click the buckles to the carrier onto Addison. She was already in it sleeping, so this is not difficult.

I pick up the carrier and follow the soldier out of the cell and through the Center. We go up so many stairs and through so many different hallways, I lose track of where in the building I am.

We get to the courtroom. The first thing I notice is the judge's wooden bench. He is sitting slouched over like he couldn't care less about what is happening. I have no way of knowing if that will be in my favor or not, and that scares me almost more than anything else has. I do not show it, though, as I follow the guard up to the table with two chairs behind it on the left side of the room.

I sit down on the chair, relieved after the long walk I had to endure carrying both Addy and the supplies. I set the baby carrier down on the floor next to me. The chairs are too small to safely set the carrier on.

I only have to wait in anticipation for about another minute or so, because Collins does show up. He strides gracefully down the aisle and pulls out the chair next to mine. His face remains stoic, but I know that he would smile at me if he could because he is a good man. I can tell he is.

My heart drops when the prosecution sidewalks in (A/N: I do not know the legit terminology for CIA black site court, but I'm going to go with the prosecution to make it simpler). It is the man who originally interrogated me, although he got nothing useful out of me that that they wouldn't already know.

"All rise," says the gruff voice. I can't tell if is worn out because he is half asleep or because he is drunk.

We all stand up, ready to see what the judge has to say.

"Why do you think we should release you?" the judge says, obviously directing the question to me.

"Well, you honor, as you can see here, I am caring for a newborn baby. It is unsafe and unhealthy for her to spend her first few weeks of life in a jail cell in what equates to a fancy dungeon."

The judge nods and looks at the interrogator.

"Why should this young woman and her child not be allowed to go free?"

"She is a hazard to society! We have evidence that suggests she was directly involved with national security leaks."

The judge sighs. "Let the woman and her child go home. We do not need to be dealing with a baby."

"No! She must pay for what she has done!"

I look over to Nathan. He gives me a slight nod.

"How about a compromise

"I'm listening," the prosecutor says.

"Until you have your case built up, she is able to go home on the condition that she must wear an ankle monitor."

"House arrest?" asks the prosecutor hopefully.

"No, she needs enough distance so that she can take care of the Babi y'all needs and attend college."

"Fine, but I swear if she steps out of that perimeter even an inch, I will have her dragged back in here for attempted escape."

"Do both parties agree to these terms," the judge asks tiredly as if this case has already taken up too much of his precious time.

"Yes, your honor." I know that this is the best in going to get, but all east I can go home, even if I am leashed like a dog. The other side agrees and leaves the courtroom.

"Come on," Collins says, leading me out of the dismal courtroom and to the processing area where they will lock on the monitor and let me go. I will not be free, but maybe I will be able to get to the bottom of this when I am at home. I will be able to go back to school.

 I almost laugh out loud when I think about my classmates are going to think. I missed the first week of class, and I will show up with a baby and an ankle monitor. I almost considered not going, but I will not let this government take one more thing from me. As I am following Collins down the hall, his words on the letter come back to me. I am important. I am being watched.