“Sure, I’ll just—” But Anika was already snapping at Sam to sit down, so I dropped my backpack by the bed and hurried out.

I only stayed in the corridor for a second before I decided it was too busy and wandered back toward the atrium.

I pulled the heavy sliding door open and stepped inside, breathing in the smell of earth and green. Some kid sitting on a patch of grass started bubbling with laughter while a couple watched from one of the benches that were placed around the courtyard’s perimeter.

The lady with the long black braid was still there, too—only now she was hugging her belly the same way Anika did, like she had to hold on.

I wandered over to the last empty bench and spaced out for a bit, watching the kid on the grass play until his parents said it was time to go. I realized the dad was wearing a bathrobe, and he looked so sad as they gathered the kid up and walked out.

Then the place was quiet, with just the lady and me. And in the quiet I thought about my mom. I wondered if this garden had been here when she had me, and if she sat around rubbing her belly the way Anika and that lady did or brought me here all bundled up. I wondered if she started calling me Winnie from the first day, and what she’d think of me now.

“Ne-deem! Ne-deem!”

My head snapped up and my eyes were instantly drawn to the woman—no longer as still as a statue, but wobbling to her feet and clutching her belly with one hand, while holding the other to her back.

“Ne-deem! Ne-deem!”

Her face crumpled in pain and I made a quick decision to run straight to the glass wall and bang on it for help. A nurse and a doctor came sprinting down the corridor while I waved urgently and pointed to the woman behind me.

I turned around and went back to her, but didn’t know what to do. She grabbed my upper arm to steady herself, wincing again from the pain.

“Ndihmë!” she said, and then a whole lot of words spilled out that I didn’t understand.

“Mirëdita, mirëdita.” I whispered the only word I knew, and the woman kept staring at me, still gritting her teeth and with eyes watering, but for a second I thought she looked . . . relieved. And a little less scared.

“Coming through!” the nurse called. She was followed by a doctor pushing an empty wheelchair, and I moved out of the way as they helped lower her into the chair.

I hurried behind them as they pushed her toward the doors, and I listened to the woman keep talking in that language I didn’t know. The doctor and nurse didn’t know it either, but it must have been Albanian.