I sat perfectly still in that wide chair for forty-five minutes, listening to the steady mechanical hiss of the ventilator and the rise of my daughter’s chest against mine.

At a quarter past three, Nurse Elena carefully lifted Rosalie off my chest and settled her back in the quiet incubator.

Kevin offered to take Brooklyn down to the second-floor playroom so she could stretch her legs.

I walked down the quiet first-floor corridor toward the vending machines near the emergency room exit to buy a bottle of water.

A woman in a bright yellow silk party dress was standing in front of the glass snack machine.

Melissa turned around when she heard my rubber-soled shoes squeak on the linoleum floor.