In his room, June rubbed Ted's forehead, tried to comfort and quiet him by humming Neil Diamond. Fine baby hair, wrinkles, and wide wondering curious eyes, Ted, infant-esque, had too been through a recent life-changing, or life-giving (in a way) trauma. Like the babies, she wondered what Ted was thinking. Could he recognize her, know who she was, hear her voice? So close the second and fourth floor, separated by the space of an elevator shaft, two flights of stairs, Ted's wife, death and life. So close, and yet the time between the new and the old, the span of a life, the years between floors seemed disconnected. She thought of Baby M.