“They thought I wouldn’t look,” Lorenzo whispered. “They thought I would just see a grieving father who couldn’t care for his son.”

Suddenly, the digital display on the freezer flickered.

The blue light died, and the steady hum of the compressor cut out, leaving the room dead silent.

A low, heavy click sounded from the door behind us.

The electronic keypad lock on the outside of the pantry door chimed once, a high-pitched beep that signaled it had been remotely locked from the central security grid.

We were locked in.

Then, the overhead fluorescent tube blinked out, plunging us into absolute darkness.

In the blackness, my phone in my apron pocket vibrated once, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.

I held my breath in the sudden, heavy silence.

The blue glow from my phone screen was the only light left in the small, freezing room.

Lorenzo took the phone from my hand, his fingers cold against mine.

He aimed the screen’s pale light back toward the medical freezer shelves.

With his other hand, he pulled out a tray of pre-measured donor milk bags.