She seems so tiny and vulnerable. Around her bed they’ve placed a transparent protective box, equipped with a filter to purify the air. I’ve read up on sepsis. Blood poisoning is one of the most common and fatal diseases. I stare down at the girl with her drawn features, the tube in her mouth, and her frail, sunken frame. Her sudden illness is a mystery, but her struggle for life has galvanized everyone. Her small body is increasingly tense, her head and her calves bent back almost into a C-shape. Nothing moves and torments the entire intensive care staff more than the sight of Sam, swaddled in overalls, face mask, and plastic gloves, sitting at the foot of Maddie’s bed, quietly reading aloud to her or recounting an anecdote or simply being there and holding her hand for hours on end.

I turn to Henri and give a stunned gasp. He’s opened his eyes!

“Henri!” I whisper. “Oh, Henri!” But those are the only words I can utter as laughter comes bubbling up inside me. It soon dies in my throat, though, because his gaze passes straight through me. He’s completely lifeless.

“Dr. Foss!” I call, or try to, but the only sound that comes out is a high-pitched squeak. I automatically feel for Henri’s pulse. He’s there: his skin is warm.

Dr. Saul joins me at the bedside. He pulls out his light pen and shines it into Henri’s eyes, causing me to wince in spite of myself. Standing up straight again, the doctor announces, “His pupils don’t react. He can’t see us.”

I lean down close to Henri’s face. It’s been such a long time since I saw him—and now he’s ignoring me. I feel distraught.

“Look at me!” I beseech him. “I’m here. I’m not leaving, so don’t you go either, Henri, my heart, my darling.”

“He can’t hear you either.”

“How do you know?”

Dr. Saul gives Dr. Foss a signal. They’re so bloody used to this life shorn of miracles.

“The spontaneous fluctuation of activity in his auditory cortex alternates between internal and external stimuli approximately every twenty seconds,” he says.

“What does that mean?”

“That we try not to miss the moments when Mr. Skinner regains consciousness. We monitor him continuously. It’s almost out of the question that we’d fail to notice if he were to hear, see, or try to establish contact with us.”

“ ‘Almost’ isn’t good enough.”

Dr. Saul sighs. The two doctors bend over Henri, speak to him, touch him, and examine him. I loathe the almost imperceptible shakes of their heads and acquiescent glances with which they increasingly exclude me from their deliberations. It’s obvious, though: Dr. Foss and Dr. Saul are beginning to give up on Henri.