"Jesus," Andrea murmurs, even though Rukia's told her not to be afraid to ask about it. The idea of someone dying as a baby -- someone she knows -- it just hits close to home and makes her think of Ben and Billy. Of Judith, dying with Lori on the ground in that prison yard.

Maybe it's naive of her, but she finds herself wildly hoping that someone like Rukia was there for them. To guide them wherever they needed to go. To make them feel less afraid, less sad about having to leave.

"Sorry," she says. "I'm sorry, it's just a friend's baby died not long before I came here."