Lily’s forehead felt like a hot plate against my collarbone as I swayed back and forth across the foyer of our Upper East Side penthouse at five forty-five on Christmas Eve.

The digital thermometer on the black marble console table read one hundred and two point eight, flashing a faint red warning icon against the polished stone wall.

“Cole, please,” I said, holding her tight against my cardigan while six-month-old Noah whimpered in his portable car seat beside the brass umbrella stand.

“She needs the emergency pediatric clinic on Seventy-Second Street, and I can’t manage both babies down thirty flights of stairs if the service elevator stalls again.”

Cole didn’t look up from the gold-leaf mirror beside the entry closet.

He swept his thumbs across his platinum cuff links, polishing the engraved Whitmore family crest until the silver gleamed under the bright ceiling lights.

“The senior managing partners expect every partner in the grill room by six o’clock,” he said, turning his wrist to adjust his French cuffs.

“You’re overreacting to an ordinary baby fever.”

I touched my left wrist through my sweater sleeve, pressing on the blue mark where his thumb had pinned me against the marble kitchen island three weeks ago when I asked why our joint household account had been restricted.

“The pediatrician told us on Monday that anything over one hundred and two in a six-month-old needs to be seen right away,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady so Noah wouldn’t start screaming.

“Then call a private car service,” Cole said, picking up his dark leather briefcase from the velvet bench.

“That’s exactly what your monthly household allowance is for.”

“You cut the household card limit to four hundred dollars for the whole month of December,” I said.

“The car service dispatcher declined the card at noon when I tried to book a pickup.”

Cole paused, his hand hovering two inches above the polished bronze handle of the front door.

He didn’t turn around to look at the twins or at me.

“We’ll go over your spending habits on Monday morning,” he said.

He stepped into the carpeted elevator vestibule without another word and pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind him without looking back.