She stopped on the other side of the double doors and looked straight through the clear glass into my eyes.

“Look at me, Claire,” Elena said, her professional tone dropping into a firm command that left no room for argument.

I lifted my head, my eyes burning in the bright lights of the unit entrance.

“That baby in bed four weighs three pounds and nine ounces,” Elena said, pointing her pen back toward the dim room.

“She doesn’t care about your sister’s party,” Elena said.

“She doesn’t care about lemon desserts, and she doesn’t care about your mother’s hurt feelings.”