She gave the plastic bassinet beside my bed a single cold glance before settling her eyes on me.

“You’ve made this much more complicated than it ever needed to be, Vivian,” Julian said, his voice clipped and dry as he stopped at the foot of my bed.

“The admissions desk notified our attorney the second you were processed under the county charity waiver,” Eleanor said, her low, purring voice without any warmth.

Julian unbuttoned his overcoat, took a four-page legal document out of the inside pocket of his suit, and tapped the orange signature flag at the bottom.

“We’re prepared to pay the fourteen-thousand-dollar private hospital bill and clear your sixty-two-dollar vitamin balance at the county clinic,” Julian said, twisting the heavy silver band of his watch around his wrist.