Something pricked Marla’s hand. Groggily, very much so, she turned over in bed and spoke to her husband.
“John,” Marla whispered, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice, “turn on the light. There’s a pin in the bed.”
“What?” Her husband rolled over in the dark, and she felt his elbow bump into her leg.
“John, there’s a needle. In the bed. With your baby. Turn on the light.” Her words were firm. John got up and turned on the light, looking at her unsteadily.
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