“Is Daddy coming before cake?”

I lied.

“I think so.”

At eight-thirty, Garrett texted:

Short-staffed. Emergency case. Tell Maya I love her.

He came home after she was asleep.

Sometimes he did not come home at all.

He would crawl into bed shortly before dawn, smelling like hospital soap and stale coffee.

Once, around three in the morning, I woke to find him sitting on the edge of the mattress.

His shoulders were shaking.

“Garrett?”

He wiped his face before turning.

“Rough night.”

“Are you okay?”