“Eight hundred plus eleven hundred plus nine hundred plus two hundred makes exactly thirty-two hundred dollars.”

Caroline took the paper slip and wrote the total in clear, steady script across the bank slip.

The quiet of the third-floor maternity room was broken only by the steady hum of the wall monitor.

Soft yellow light streamed through the glass transom above the door, casting long shadows across the white cotton sheets.

Caroline sat propped against three stiff pillows, her arms cradling three small swaddled bundles resting together across her chest.

Rowan lay on the right, her tiny dark head turned toward the window, breathing in quiet little puffs against the flannel cloth.