Betsy takes a right and the floor plan opens into a large common room. Puffy couches, their tan fabric as plush and velvety as newborn kittens, line the walls. Groups of plastic tables and chairs are clustered here and there. The chair legs are so shiny and rust-free, glimmering in the electric light, that the glare hurts my eyes. A large shelving area with rows of books and brightly colored game boxes lines one wall. My mouth drops open. I’ve never seen more than a ratty box of checkers or a mildewed Connect Four in a closet of a house we moved into. I want to run over and investigate the colored spines, flip the pages, smell the new ink, but the guard’s at my back and Betsy’s droning on and on about the huge TV screen mounted to one wall. The video, a black-and-white picture show with a man and woman riding in a car, is playing with the sound off. Everything in this room is newer and cleaner than any item I’ve ever seen in my life. It takes my breath away. Two pregnant girls sit at a checkers board. Another is asleep on the couch in front of the flickering TV. All these forms of entertainment Ethan and I would have died for back at home, and yet the girls seem more bored than we’ve ever been.

Betsy shuffles over to the girls playing checkers. The girls glance up at me with sour expressions. Then they go back to staring at the black and red board.

Betsy stops before them and waves me over. “Latisha, Sammy, this is Agatha. Agatha, meet Latisha and Sammy.”

Both girls glance up. Latisha is a dark-skinned girl with a slim body and round belly, like a basketball stuffed under her white hospital gown. Her brown eyes scan me and then dismiss me in the span of a few seconds. Sammy is petite with dirty-blond hair thrown up in a messy ponytail. She looks up at me unhappily, but I can’t tell if she’s displeased or if her sour expression is her typical one. She rubs a hand over the small bump on her belly. They both wear the shapeless hospital gowns, matching pants and bright yellow socks with grippy souls just like mine. Apparently patients got no need for shoes.

Latisha leans into Betsy and pokes a finger in her flabby chest. “You took my breakfast again, tubby. Do it again and I’ll break your fingers.”

The smile falls off Betsy’s face. “Tish, I didn’t. I swear.” She clutches her hands in front of her chest and her lower lip trembles.

Latisha shakes her head and her black springy curls follow. “Don’t lie, lard butt. I can see my sausage links on your hips.” Tish pinches her and Betsy winces. “Don’t mess with a pregnant lady’s food, girl. I know they got you on calorie restriction.”