Of course she did.
Women say I’m okay the way soldiers say it’s just a scratch when they’re standing in a field missing half their blood.
“When did you last sleep through the night?” you asked.
Helena gave a tiny laugh, but it cracked in the middle. “I don’t know.”
That was answer enough.
You glanced at Rafael. He had the decency to look uncomfortable, which was less than repentance but more than you expected that early.
“Could you hand her the bottle on the counter?” you asked him.
It was the simplest thing. Barely an action. A flicker of usefulness.
He looked at the counter as if you had asked him to move a refrigerator uphill with his teeth. “She’s got it,” he muttered.
Helena, of course, moved immediately toward it, baby on one hip, older child clinging to her leg.
