She said this in a pragmatic, almost indifferent, tone, and Mariam understood that this was a woman far past outrage.
Here was a woman, she thought, who had understood that she was lucky to even be working,
that there was always something, something else, that they could take away.
There were two vertical, metallic rods on either side of Laila's shoulders.
With clothespins, the nurse who'd cleansed Laila's belly pinned a sheet to them.
It formed a curtain between Laila and the doctor.
Mariam positioned herself behind the crown of Laila's head and lowered her face so their cheeks touched.
She could feel Laila's teeth rattling. Their hands locked together.
Through the curtain, Mariam saw the doctor's shadow move to Laila's left, the nurse to the right.
Laila's lips had stretched all the way back. Spit bubbles formed and popped on the surface of her clenched teeth.
She made quick, little hissing sounds. The doctor said, “Take heart, little sister.”
She bent over Laila. Laila's eyes snapped open. Then her mouth opened.
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