FIVE MONTHS LATER
The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, sharp and clean, mingling with the faint sweetness of baby powder drifting in from the nursery down the hall. Naime gripped the cold metal railing of the hospital bed as another wave of pain crashed through her. It began low in her back, then tightened around her abdomen like a fist slowly closing. Her breath caught. Sweat dampened the strands of hair plastered against her temples.
Earlier that morning she had been walking the length of the corridor, one careful step after another, her palm pressed to the curve of her belly. She had counted each breath, each footstep, whispering quiet prayers between contractions. The nurses had told her movement would help. So she walked. She walked past muted television screens and rolling car
