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When young Cheryl Ann leaves home, she thinks her path is straight…until she’s forced to make a choice she could never have imagined. The man in her life makes it clear: either pick your baby or pick me, he says. Suddenly, Cheryl finds herself at a crossroads. She makes a decision that will change her life forever, and that decision causes a chain of events that will lead Cheryl to a completely unexpected place.
Baby Girl is a mother’s story. It’s about the greatest sacrifice a mother can make when she wants only the best for her child. It’s about falling in and out of love, of losing and finding one’s self. It’s about the perilous journey from passionate young love to happy true love and understanding the differences between the two.
Baby Girl is a book that readers won’t want to miss because it’s a story they won’t forget.
From the Author:
This book is based on a true story…a story that is heartbreaking at times but will leave readers with a better understanding of what a woman will do to protect her child. When I first heard this birth mother’s story I was touched by it, so much so that I needed to know more. When I knew more, I knew I needed to write my novel. The result is Baby Girl.
ADVANCE PRAISE FOR BABY GIRL:
“It encompasses all the emotional highs and lows I expect of Bette while telling a brilliant story of a woman lost, then found.” – Elizabeth, Goodreads reviewer
“Bette has written another beautiful, emotional story. I fall in love with every book and character she creates.” – Susan, The Book Bag
“I can honestly say Bette has outdone herself with this one. I could not put it down and when I was finished I had tears streaming down my face from the sheer beauty of this book.” – Mommysmoose Goodreads Reviewer
Indie Next Generation Award Chic Lit Winner
Baby Girl – #fridayfiction
With Daddy gone it was just Mama and me, and we didn’t have much to say to one another. After a few weeks of eating dinner in silence, Mama bought a little TV and set it on the kitchen counter. That’s how we ate dinner every night, Mama with her eyes glued to the television and me listening to a Sheryl Crow or Mariah Carey cassette on my Walkman.
I can’t begin to count the number of times I cried myself to sleep that year. I’d wake up in the morning and get dressed for school with my eyes all red and puffy. It got to the point where even Mama noticed how bad I was looking.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. She suggested maybe I ought to stop in and let Doctor Simpson take a look at me. Not once did she consider that maybe all I needed was a big old hug like Daddy used to give me.