Icy fingers gripped my arm in the darkness, but I did not draw away. Even as chilled as the hand was, it was a comfort. The feeble strength in the hand was enough to tell me that she was still here. In the near to perfect darkness of the room, I looked towards where I knew she was. Leaning forward, tailbone on the edge of the hard plastic chair, I slid my hand across the scratchy fabric swathing her stomach. I let my warmth seep through the gown, let her cold skin sap away the heat of my palm.