He took the heavy canvas diaper bag and my client file, keeping his eyes on the floorboards as we walked back toward the stairs.

My father was waiting on the porch, holding Noah against his chest while the boy babbled softly into his collar.

“Car’s unlocked,” my father said, his voice flat and measured.

“I put the infant seat in the back ten minutes ago.”

Ethan went down the three wooden steps ahead of me, his shoulders hunched under his gray shirt.

He set the diaper bag on the rear floorboard of the gray sedan and stepped back onto the gravel driveway.

“Camila,” Ethan said, reaching for my forearm before catching himself and pulling his hand back.