“Who is this?” I asked, my eyes still fixed on the closed curtain of Mary’s room.

“This is Carl Brenner,” the voice said.

“What do you want, Carl?” I whispered, moving a few steps away from the glass.

The hospital corridor smelled of bleach and old floor wax.

“I want what is mine, Evelyn,” Brenner said.

His voice was wet, a low chuckle rattling in his throat.

“Mary is in cardiac arrest,” I said, my hand gripping the plastic casing of the wall telephone. “Leave us alone.”

“Mary is a liability,” Brenner said. “And she is about to lose more than just her breath.”

Inside the room, the red light on the defibrillator flashed.

Dr. Rao was shouting orders, her face tight with a desperate, quiet fury.

“What did you do, Carl?” I asked, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

“I did some reading,” he said. “The state of Illinois has very specific rules about abandoned children of delinquent debtors.”

I looked down at the paper on the floor.

The red stamp seemed to glow under the fluorescent lights.