I rubbed my thumbnail against my index finger.

“We’ll need her phone number too,” the clerk said.

I read out Patricia’s number while watching Lily on the squeaking wooden chair.

She was holding her stomach and rocking back and forth in a tight rhythm, crushing a pink butterfly coloring page in her fist.

A nurse in green scrubs walked through the double doors holding a clipboard.

She called out our last name.

The pediatric bay at five in the afternoon hummed with quiet medical machinery.