“It is working,” she said, her fingers tightening around the edge of her hospital blanket. “People we know are commenting on the post.”
“We are not backing down,” I said. “Julian is already preparing a response.”
“If we show people the security footage, it becomes a public war,” Maya said, her eyes wide with a quiet exhaustion. “I just want to hold my baby without feeling like the whole neighborhood is watching us through the window.”
The nurse entered to check her vitals, and I stood up, promising to return before the evening shift change.
When I left the hospital lobby at four o’clock, the sky had turned the color of a wet slate shingle. The streetlights along Seventh Avenue were already flicking on, casting a yellow glow over the slush on the sidewalk.
A young man with a heavy camera bag stood near the glass double doors of the Methodist Hospital lobby, watching the entrance.
