Janet plays with her toys on the carpet in the living room. There’s another girl here to play. One of Janet’s few friends. So many of her friends seem to outgrow her after a year or two. She’s young. Maybe things will change, I don’t know. I hand the girls a muffin each, like it’s the last thing I’ll ever give Janet. So small, so fragile. They keep sliding the dolls around the floor, trying to figure out what to do with them.

Janet smiles up at me, grinning through her missing front teeth. She is six years old. That’s what they told us at the Adoption Center. We’ve had her maybe four years now, instead of our own, the one we couldn’t have. She hasn’t grown any in all these years, even though I can feel my youth slipping away.

Nicole calls her in to the bedroom. Nicole didn’t get out of bed today. Today is the day the contract runs out.