Twelve days out.

I laid both hands flat on the papers.

Under them, the baby turned once, small and definite, like someone turning over in bed.

Twelve days, and a house I had already paid for once.

The receptionist slid a visitor badge across the counter before I had finished saying my name.

“Mr.

Baldwin said you might come by.” She wrote the time in the log without looking up.

10:58.