I leaned over and touched Sam’s tiny hand.

His fingers curled weakly around my pinky.

He had suffered so much neglect under Josephine’s roof when we were forced to stay there.

The memory of finding him in that damp, unheated back room made my stomach churn.

“What about your sister?” I asked.

“Did Melanie help her with this?”

“Melanie does whatever my mother tells her to do,” Leo said bitterly.

“She probably drove her to the bank.”

He stood up and began to pace the small hospital room.

His heavy leather work boots squeaked on the linoleum.

“I’m going to call the credit union,” Leo said, pulling his phone back from the bed.

“Maybe there’s a hold on the transfer. Maybe we can stop it.”

He stepped out into the hallway, his voice rising as he greeted the automated customer service line.

I was left alone with the hum of the machines and my sleeping son.

I looked at the white board on the wall.

Our discharge goals were written in blue dry-erase marker.

*Sam: Consistent weight gain. Keep fluids down.*