I had too.

At home, Wesley was beginning to gain weight and settle into a more predictable feeding routine.

I had photographs of him sleeping with both hands beside his cheeks and staring solemnly at the ceiling fan.

Jenna caught me looking at them one day.

“Do you miss him when you go to work?”

“Every hour.”

“Good,” she said, then smiled.

“I was afraid you only came home for my cooking.”