As Paisley grew, she began focusing on faces and giving those fleeting newborn expressions that made Dad insist she was smiling at him.

I let him believe it.

He had earned a few unprovable victories.

There was also a morning when Paisley woke with a mild fever and I felt the old panic of being responsible for a fragile little person.

I called her pediatrician, described her age and symptoms, and followed the office’s instructions about prompt evaluation.

I notified Lucas, expecting him to call back with a dozen arguments about what his mother thought we should do.

Instead, he asked where the appointment was and whether I wanted him there.