“So was I.” I hugged her close. “But when I saw your tears, I couldn’t help myself.” I didn’t tell her how I’d regretted interfering the next morning, and most days since. Terrified Jones would discover the switch, I’d determined to ignore Robin from then on, to treat her like the maid she was. Only—by then it was too late. Our friendship had taken root. I managed to keep it hidden, most of time. But over the years it blossomed, despite the dark.

Holding her gaze, I reached for the knife.

She let it go.

* * *

After a while I brushed a tear from her cheek. “What is it this time?” I said. “Tell me and I will help.”

She shook her head. “You can’t help me. No one can give life. Not even a Record Keeper.” Suddenly, she bent over as if an invisible knife twisted in her gut.

I held on, trying to decipher her wail.

“My baby, my baby. My baby. Where is my baby?”

Finally, I understood. As a Record Keeper, I received medicine to prevent my flow. Robin got no such courtesy. At sixteen, any Second Brother with desirable genes is required to produce life. Those who don’t have partners at the time are paired up and mated. Workers who cannot conceive are put to work early along with other undesirables—the physically disabled, the weak and, of course, Rebels. This unfortunate contingent were given the most dangerous tasks and, generally, died young.

Robin had grown big with child until, for a week two months ago, she went to the birthing hut. Though she never spoke of it, Robin was a birth mother. I knew they suffered after labor, developing an affection for the child, though every precaution is taken to prevent attachment. In the rare case where a birth mother identifies her birth baby despite her facemask, she’s recommended for intermittent erasure by the nursery attendants.

Robin cleared her throat. “The worst part is the Rebirth. It’s three weeks away.”

I frowned. Logic dictated she should be happy the Rebirth was nigh, as it would force her to forget her grief.

Instead of sounding relieved, however, Robin began to pant. “What if I don’t remember her after the Rebirth?” she gasped. “It will be like she never lived.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she howled. “My baby!”

I fought to hold her still. “Robin, you must stop. Listen to reason. The children are in the nursery. Go there; you can see as many babies as you like.”

She drew back and gaped at me. “No.”

“Yes—yes, there are dozens of them.” Thinking she had forgotten, I explained. “Go hold one and you won’t even know the difference.”

Robin covered my mouth. “Arika, I would know it is not my baby.”

I sat back, confused.

“I would know because—” She broke off and swallowed. “Because my baby is dead.”

“No. It—”

“Dead, Arika!”