but when she did, she usually said something precise.
On the third morning, she climbed onto the sofa beside me while I read email.
She pointed at my laptop.
“Work?”
“Yes.”
She frowned.
“Again?”
I closed it.
Cassandra saw.
She pretended not to.
I began documenting things in my phone.
Not financial projections.
Not meeting notes.
Luke likes blueberries in oatmeal but not cooked blueberries.
Violet sleeps holding elephant by left ear.
Both like Goodnight Moon. Luke skips pages. Violet objects.
On December twenty-seventh, I bought car seats.
I had
