Their explanations no longer set the terms of the room I lived in.

I warmed water in the kettle and put a plate beside my chair.

Then I heard my daughter stir.

I went to her, lifted her, and settled with her against me while the rain moved across the window.

She opened her eyes briefly.

There was no family argument in that look, no instruction for me to obey.

She needed care, and I was there to give it.

After she settled again, I returned her to the crib and came back to the living room.