The hospital around us was locked down, quiet, and completely sealed off from the cold night air outside.

My eyes grew heavy, and the dim shapes in the room faded into long gray shadows as my body gave in to the deep exhaustion.

My breathing slowed as I fell asleep holding my older daughter’s hand.

Downstairs by the main security entrance on the first floor, my mother stepped in out of the night air at ten-thirty.

She carried a glossy yellow paper gift bag with silver handles, holding it against her dark wool coat like a loaf of bread.

The night security guard sat behind a high laminate counter near the automatic turnstiles.