“Yeah! The nurses rushed in and shoved me out of the way, but the dad came over and patted me—I might have been hyperventilating a little—and he said I did fantastic. Turns out the lady had six kids already. But before the nurses got in, while I was holding him, he opened his eyes and looked up at me, and I realized mine was the first face he’d ever seen.”

It still shook her, all these years later, the memory of that tiny wizened gaze. For one moment, the baby’s little eyes had fluttered open and the weight of his innocence had floored her. Here in her arms was an uncorrupted soul. He knew nothing of the world, understood nothing, and in these, the first moments of his life, he faced a future of infinite possibility. He possessed the power to master the quantum computer, to bring about world peace, to alter the trajectory of the universe. Or—he might be abused by the all-powerful adults who should be caring for him; unable to defend himself, he could die horribly, as legions of children have since time immemorial. Or he could be raised by scoundrels and become a scoundrel himself, one of the malignant hordes motivated only by their own gain, indifferent to suffering and truth. He knew none of this, knew nothing of good and evil and random chance. His eyes were full of fathomless wonder.

She’d never seen him again, but he’d changed the course of her life.

Something in her expression must have conveyed the depth of her emotion on the subject, because Compton set down her wineglass with an odd gentleness. “You’re very lucky, you know,” she said, her eyes fixed at some distant point beyond Hannah.

“Because I figured out what I wanted to do?”

Compton met her gaze. “Because you are doing what you love.”

Total silence. The obvious question occurred to everyone, but no one, it seemed, had the balls to ask it. After an awkward thirty seconds or so, Vani spoke.

“Compton,” she said. “We love you. Do you want to tell us how you are?”

Compton appeared to be trying to arrange her face into a smile but could manage only a wry wince. She sighed, a long, shaky exhalation. “I don’t know. I’m getting by.”

Now Zadie spoke, her earnest, round-eyed gaze directed straight at the camera. “What are you feeling about your job?”

Without any warning at all, Compton’s hands flew to her face. A sound erupted from her, harsh and barking. It took Hannah a second to understand that Compton was sobbing—sobbing so violently her wineglass tipped and splintered as the little table beside her shook. She was saying something, but none of them could make it out.

“I don’t want to go back.”