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Lena Ross had no mother. At least, that is what she had been raised to believe. A succession of caregivers paraded in and out of her life, none staying long enough to imprint any lasting legacy on her. It was not until this moment, lying on the raised table in the middle of a stark white room, the crisp hospital gown sliding stiffly across her skin, with the doctor’s fingers uncomfortably poking and prodding, that she knew it had not been true. She tried to concentrate on something pleasant. Her husband, the new seedlings starting to sprout in the garden. New life was growing everywhere.
