The door closed behind him. I lay in the crib, staring at the ceiling through the bars, and listened to the distant murmur of his voice in the hallway. Words I couldn't make out. A laugh—low, masculine, pleased with itself.

The pacifier bobbed in my mouth. The diaper was wet again—I'd soaked it in my sleep without waking, my bladder emptying on autopilot now. The sheet beneath me was soft as breath. My breasts ached with that now-familiar sensitivity, the injection sites tingling.