I logged off the legal aid computer at five o’clock that evening, but by ten the following morning Patrick was standing in our kitchen holding a white gift box wrapped in tissue paper.

He set the box down carefully on the granite island next to the coffee pot.

“I brought something for the baby,” Patrick said, his voice gentler than it had been in months.

He reached in and lifted out a folded cream wool blanket, followed by three slick, shiny nursery catalogs.

“I know things have been strained between us, Serena,” he said, adjusting his gold cufflinks with deliberate care.

“We let the lawyers come between us too fast.”