When the nurse tells me she needs to take Benjamin for some tests, Piper’s hold on me is the only thing that keeps me from demanding I go with them.
Then the space clears and we’re alone.
The white box of a room is sterile and lifeless. My eyes bounce from medical chart to medical chart, seeking anything to distract me for even a second.
“What I wouldn’t give for some terrible dentist’s office art,” I mutter.
Piper, who has been standing perfectly still since the nurse closed the door behind her, jumps up and begins pacing the two steps back and forth across the room. “Maybe we should have gone with him.”
She ignores me. “Did they put a tag on him or anything?” she asks. “How do they know he’s ours—I mean, yours—how do they know where he belongs?”
“They put the wristband on him and s
