The dark blue ink soaked cleanly into the heavy paper of the care log.

I stood over him, watching the crown of his head as he finished filling out the morning entries.

“I am going upstairs to lock our bedroom door,” I said.

“Do not wake me unless June’s fever goes over 103 or her breathing becomes rapid.”

Ethan looked up from the table, setting the cap back onto the pen.

“Rachel?”

“What?”

“I am going to do this,” he said, his voice flat and firm.