“They’re running fevers of thirty-eight degrees.”

“They’ve got a cold, Ellen,” he said, throwing a pair of heavy rubber boots into the corner by the closet.

“You panic over every tiny sniffle.”

He lifted the green duffel by its webbed handles and slung it over his shoulder, his heavy elbow bumping the nightstand where the silver baby monitor sat charging.

The corner of a yellow ledger folder stuck out from under the bedside lamp, but he swept right past it without a glance.

He marched straight out into the front hall, his heavy work boots thudding on the oak floorboards while cold autumn rain pattered on the single-pane window next to the front door.