He looked up as my shadow hit the rug.

He did not smile, but the panic that usually lived around his eyes was gone.

“How is she?” I asked softly.

Ethan picked up the logbook with both hands and held it out toward me.

“Her fever is down to 100.2, she ate her full bottle, and I recorded everything right here.”

I walked over and sat on the edge of the coffee table to read the page.

His handwriting was neat, slanted, and deliberate in blue ink.