He looked up as my shadow fell across the rug.

He didn’t smile, but the panic that usually lived around his eyes was gone.

“How is she?” I asked softly.

Ethan picked up the logbook with both hands and held it out to me.

“Her fever is down to 100.2, she finished her whole bottle, and I recorded everything right here.”

I walked over and sat on the edge of the coffee table to read the page.

His handwriting was neat, slanted, and careful in blue ink.