On Friday, I left the office before sunset, made dinner badly, and practiced saying the four boys’ names without turning them into an abstract miracle.

Mason.

Henry.

Theo.

Wyatt.

Four separate children, not one extraordinary discovery.

When Saturday finally arrived, Lauren told me to bring no gifts, no photographers, and no promises about the future.

I brought a box of plain cookies from the bakery near her building, after asking whether that was acceptable.