He pulled it open, and a cloud of cold, white vapor drifted out, settling around our ankles.

Inside, organized in neat, clear plastic bins, were the frozen bottles of donor milk, each labeled with a date and a batch number.

“This is what Halloran insisted on using,” Lorenzo said, his voice flat and dangerous.

He reached in and pulled out one of the bottles, frost clinging to the plastic.

He held it up to the harsh fluorescent light.

At first glance, it looked like normal, yellowish-white breast milk.

But as Lorenzo turned the bottle slowly in his hand, I noticed something off about the liquid.

There was a thin, gray-ish ring at the very bottom of the frozen block, separate from the fat.

It looked like a fine sediment, settling in a perfect circle.

“Look at that,” I whispered, stepping closer despite my fear.

Lorenzo didn’t speak. He reached back into the freezer and pulled out a box of the powdered formula.

The seal on the box was intact, but when he turned it over, we both saw it.