Paul's return to the hospital that evening was that of a changed man. The anger that had possessed him had transformed into a cold determination, a granite shell he carried on his broad shoulders. Crossing the threshold of Marina's room, his gaze first sought the transparent crib where Lucas, a small bundle of flesh and wires, fought silently, then settled on Marina.
She was awake, sitting up in bed, her eyes wide open in the half-light, fixed on the incubator as if her love alone could reinforce its walls. She turned her head towards him. In the bluish glow of the monitors, he saw she had been crying, but also that a strange, resigned calm had come over her.
"Did you go see them?" she asked, her voice a bit hoarse, without accusation, without anger. Just a question.
"To the police stat
