“No,” I said. “My parents passed away three years ago.”

“I have an aunt in Georgia, but we aren’t close.”

“I am completely on my own.”

“You have Arthur,” Sarah pointed out.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank God for Arthur.”

The door to the room slid open again.

Dr. Chen, the pediatrician, walked in with a clipboard.

She looked tired, but her face was calm.

“How is he doing?” I asked immediately.

“His numbers are starting to trend down,” Dr. Chen said, pointing to the monitor.

“The blue light therapy is working.”

“But we need to keep him under the lights for at least another twenty-four hours.”

“We are also running some blood tests to rule out any infection.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Of course,” Dr. Chen said. “And the social worker has informed me of the situation.”

“We will ensure no one but you is allowed in this room.”

“Security has been notified.”

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, the exhaustion finally catching up to me.

My body ached from the surgery.

Every movement felt like a knife twisting in my abdomen.