It was as though the slow rise and fall of Raymond’s breathing, the warmth of him, the steady old heartbeat beneath, were the thing my son had been crying for all night.

Theodore’s little body went soft and heavy, his wails dropping to snuffles and then to the deep even breath of real sleep, and I nearly wept with the sudden blessed quiet of it.

And it was in that quiet, in that first still moment I had known in hours, that it happened.

Raymond’s fingers twitched.

Slowly, haltingly, they moved across the blanket until they found the soft blue fabric near the baby and closed around it.

“Mr.