Julian picked up both bottles, crossed to the playpen, and knelt down on the rug.

He lifted Clara onto his lap and held her bottle for her, stroking her dark hair, while Maya leaned contentedly against his shoulder.

He looked up as I came in, wearing my coat, holding my briefcase and my morning coffee.

“Morning,” he said, with a genuine, tired, unbegrudging smile.

“They slept through until six today.

I already changed their morning diapers and prepped their daycare bags.” “Good,” I said, and I walked over and kissed the top of each girl’s head.

“The daycare transport arrives at eight.