I could see its brass edge under the lip of the pot.

It hadn’t moved.

In the nursery, I lifted the corner of the crib mattress and slid the black leather portfolio underneath.

The mattress settled over it.

At seven I set two plates on the dining table, and Julian carried in a paper bag from Mancini’s with a bottle of Cabernet under his arm.

He set the bag down and pulled out two thick rib eyes in foil, a container of garlic mashed potatoes, and a wedge of cheesecake.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said.