The police sergeant grabbed the pharmacy bag from the eight-month-pregnant Black woman's trembling hands and told her that if she wanted her medicine back, she would have to come to the station.
She had done nothing wrong.
She had paid for her prescription, thanked the pharmacist, and walked outside expecting to meet her best friend in the parking lot.
Instead, she found herself standing beside a black-and-white police cruiser while a muscular white officer twice her size accused her of carrying stolen medication.
"Please," she whispered, holding one hand protectively against her swollen belly. "My doctor prescribed that medicine. You can call the pharmacy."
Sergeant Blake Mercer looked down at her with an expression of open contempt.
"Shut your mouth. I'm not taking orders from you."
The woman was thirty years old, with beautiful deep-brown skin, shoulder-length natural black curls, and a face that had become pale with exhaustion. She wore a modest mustard-yellow maternity dress that stretched gently around her eight-month-pregnant belly. Her feet were swollen, her lower back ached, and her doctor had warned her to avoid unnecessary stress while being monitored for pregnancy-related high blood pressure.
Her name was Naomi Ellis.
And until seventeen minutes earlier, she'd been having a perfectly ordinary Thursday.
Mercer twisted the white pharmacy bag in his hand, studying the label as if he were examining evidence from a serious criminal investigation.
"Where'd you get these pills?"
Naomi stared at him.
"Inside the pharmacy. I just told you."
"Don't get smart."
"I'm not. I have a receipt."
He stepped closer.
"Then why are you so nervous?"
Naomi looked down at her belly.
"Because I'm pregnant, you're frightening me, and you won't let me explain."
Several people standing near the pharmacy entrance turned toward the confrontation.
Mercer noticed.
His expression hardened.
"Hands where I can see them."
Naomi slowly raised her free hand.
The other remained against her stomach.
"Please, Officer. My baby—"
"Both hands!"
She hesitated.
"Sir, I'm just holding my belly."
He grabbed her wrist.
Naomi gasped.
A younger Black police officer standing beside the cruiser immediately stepped forward.
"Sergeant, she's cooperating."
Mercer turned sharply.
"Stay out of this, Price."
The younger officer stopped.
His name was Jordan Price. He was thirty-two years old, with short black hair, an athletic build, and a navy police uniform nearly identical to his supervisor's.