She smoothed the front of her light green cardigan with both hands and adjusted the handles of the glossy white gift bag on her arm.

Inside the quiet room, the incubator glowed like a small blue fish tank in the dark.

Brooklyn stayed five feet back, leaning her cheek against the cold metal doorframe.

Patricia leaned over the clear plastic box until her nose nearly touched the hard surface.

Her breath left a small round spot of fog on the acrylic panel.

“Look at you,” Patricia whispered into the quiet room.

“Look at the mess you made.”