She heard Patrick saying, “Can you take the baby?”

And the nurse said, “Of course,” as if she’d love to, as if it was a privilege. “They’re such little darlings, aren’t they?”

Little darlings. Lauren wished she was back in that life where the babies were her precious boys, the ones she’d given birth to, who were adored without condition. These ones, had the building been on fire, she would have happily stepped across to get away.

Patrick lay down behind Lauren. He drew her towards him, forks in a drawer. She was tensing all of her muscles, twitching with the effort but when he curved himself against her there she let it go. She cried with her whole self. He absorbed the waves of it. She shook and bucked and shuddered and reached back to grab at him, curled up fists of his jeans so hard that he sucked his teeth in pain. It finally peaked and gradually ebbed, while he stroked her gently, telling her, “It’s all right, you’re safe, I’ve got you.” She turned to him, under the gaze of his sister and the nurse, who both quickly averted their eyes, and the two babies who did not. Lauren hid in the dip between Patrick’s body and the wall. The blank eye of the camera observed everything but he made her a shadow to hide in, and she was glad in that moment of his large size, and that he served a purpose: he was a barrier, protecting her. She held her hands up by her face the small pink paws of a defenceless creature.

She was breathing quickly, susurrations that turned into words. He leaned in closer, frowned that he didn’t understand.

“Get me out of here,” she said.

He kissed her so that she felt the hot blood rushing. In that kiss she could feel only him. Not the babies’ eyes on her, nor the numerous ears that witnessed the gentle suck and smack of it. They were alone, together, in this place where they would never be alone.

A baby’s cry tore through her, hooking her out of the kiss, quick as a caught fish. Patrick’s body tensed. She gave an anguished groan and lifted her hands again to cover her face.

“Which one is it?” she asked, thinking, I used to be able to tell.

Patrick shifted to see which baby was screeching, but by the time he turned his body it was both of them. She glanced up; they were throwing out their arms and legs, wriggling to be free, shrieking. Ruthie and the nurse jiggled and cooed, but the sound filled the room like water might, panicking her, make it stop.

“They’re hungry,” said Lauren. “They need milk.”