I looked through the open doorway.

A small crib stood beneath a paper mobile of yellow moons.

There was a chair for overnight feeds, a stack of clean blankets and a chart of appointments pinned to the wall.

“She’s coming home?”

“For longer stretches if her doctors are satisfied.

There will be follow-up appointments and medication.

We’re learning one day at a time.”

I wanted to ask whether I could sleep on the floor beside the crib, be there for every appointment, become the father I should have been from the start.