A security guard walked past us, his leather holster creaking with every step.

“She has a group online,” Beatrice said, looking at me for the first time.

“A private room for mothers who pay fifty dollars a month.”

“What kind of private room?” I asked.

“She calls it Disciplined Minds,” Beatrice said, her fingers tightening around her silver chain.

“She posts photos of her methods.”

“What photos?” Mariana asked, her voice hardening.

“I saw a photo on my phone at ten forty-five this morning,” Beatrice said.