“Anonymous--I want to remain anonymous; do you hear?”

“But this--I--this has never been done!”

“Certainly there’s a first time for all things. Don’t you understand why I need to do this?”

“Eh, well of course. For someone in your situation--”

“Good, we understand each other. Have you the papers?”

“In here. Just as you requested, the account has been set.”

“Keep this quiet. Littleman and Associates must never know.”

“Maybe you should just inform your employers?”

“No! On your life, brother. Promise me.”

Quickly, he swiped perspiration from his brow. “Really now, is this necessary?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Think whom we are dealing with.”

“...Understood. Very well.”

With that, the lady signed the papers, the action lacking its usual flourish. Xenophobia--her irrational fear of strangers--may have set her on this course, but common sense strengthened her resolve to see it through. Youth would not last forever; she had to act while she could. Zeal to protect the beloved product of a youthful mistake fueled her as she stepped through the door, leaving her brother, his office, and the baby carriage behind.