He looked freshly shaved, wearing the blue sweater I had given him for his birthday two years earlier.

“Allison,” he said softly, “you look tired.”

“I have a newborn.”

He made an irritated face, then noticed the coordinator watching from the reception desk.

His expression shifted to concern.

“I’m just worried about you.”

I handed him a page listing Miles’s feeding times and preferences.

He glanced at it as if I had presented him with an advanced examination.