“The sleepwalking,” I said quietly, remembering the sink, the murmured numbers.

“I dream about the monitors,” she said, leaning her head against my shoulder as I finally got my arms around her.

“I hear the alarms every time a car brakes too hard outside.

Every time your phone rings, some part of me thinks it’s the hospital, that another kid is coming in.

I was coming apart, Marlo.

And I was so ashamed that I couldn’t handle the work I’d trained my whole life to do.” I held her tightly and pressed my face into her hair.