The room was dark and empty. So, I almost put the phone down.
Then I noticed the playback option.
I don’t know why I clicked it. Instinct, maybe, or anxiety. I had developed a low-grade paranoia that becomes your roommate when hormones and sleep deprivation move into your body at the same time.
I scrolled back to the night before.
At 2:20 a.m., Ethan opened the nursery door.
He was holding a paper bag.
He walked to the crib, checked on Noah. He then stood there for a second anyway, one hand resting on the rail, and then he sat down on the floor beside the rocking chair.
He opened the bag and started pulling things out.
At first, I couldn’t tell what they were. They looked like crumpled wrappers, a takeout container, and something small and glassy that flashed under the night-light. Then he bent over a notebook resting on his knee and started writing.
I stared at the screen, confused.
