It was just past midnight when the automatic doors of our small-town hospital ER slid open.
A little girl, no more than eight or nine, pushed a rusty wheelbarrow inside.
Her clothes were dirt-caked, her face smeared with grime.
In the wheelbarrow, two newborn babies lay swaddled tightly in worn blankets.
The scene was surreal, like something out of a dream.
I was on the night shift, accustomed to the odd cases that rolled through.
But this was different.
The girl stood there, her eyes wide and searching, as if looking for something beyond our understanding.
She whispered, voice barely audible, “My mom’s been asleep for three days.”
The nurses exchanged uneasy glances.
