“Can I help?” she asked. “If you let me.”
Daniel stared, disbelief written across his face.
From that night on, the house shifted.
Emily rose before dawn despite nausea and pain. Daniel watched at first from a distance, then closer. Oliver smiled when she entered, and each smile pulled at a part of Emily she tried to guard.
One morning, she caught Daniel watching her with something new—respect mixed with fear. The same fear she felt.
Late one night, Oliver cried again. Daniel tried rocking him, failed, looked helpless.
“Give him to me,” Emily said softly.
The baby relaxed almost instantly.
“I don’t understand why he won’t settle with me,” Daniel whispered.
“He’s grieving,” Emily said. “So are you.”
Days passed. Daniel learned diapers. Emily taught patiently. Their eyes met too often.
One night, Oliver burned with fever. Emily froze, memory crashing over her.
“I need to sit,” she whispered.
Daniel caught Oliver just in time.
The next day, Daniel asked quietly, “Why did you freeze?”
Emily finally spoke.
“I once cared for a child who died,” she confessed. “His name was Lucas. I chose work over him. He crossed the street alone.”
Daniel listened without interruption.