“Grandma has a lot on her mind,” I said.

“She told Daddy on the phone that Rosalie ruined Sunday,” Brooklyn said.

I sat perfectly still on the cushion.

The fluorescent lights overhead hummed with a low, vibrating buzz, and the hallway outside was dead quiet.

I reached out and tucked Brooklyn’s hair behind her ear, but my fingers were cold.

Down the corridor, the locked double glass doors of the intensive care unit stood closed, reflecting the bright white lights of the hallway.

My mother had spent four minutes at the hospital, hadn’t asked whether her newest granddaughter was breathing, and had walked away because twelve dollars for parking was too much to pay for a baby who had come on the wrong weekend.