She rested her palm back on the silver cane handle and turned her head toward the library doors.

“Your father is in there with his reading glasses.”

I pushed open the heavy oak library doors, carrying Lily on my hip while Noah slept in the bassinet by the sofa.

My father, Richard Bennett, had spread four printed ledger pages across the mahogany desk under a green-shaded lamp.

He reached up with his right hand, straightened his tie knot, and checked his watch before setting his pen down.

“Sit down, Lauren,” he said.