Talk to me.”

Chapter 2 — I Can’t Hold Him Anymore

For a few seconds all I could hear was her breathing — fast, and uneven, and shallow, the breathing of a child who is at the very end of her strength and trying not to cry.

And then, behind her, a weak, raspy little cry.

Leo.

My eight-month-old son.

“Lily,” I said, and I made my voice as calm and steady as I make it for a frightened animal, because a frightened creature borrows its calm from you or from no one.

“Where are you, baby?