I reached into the bassinet and gently pressed the back of my hand against June’s neck.

Her skin was smooth, warm, and dry, without the burning heat that had terrified me eight hours earlier.

“You managed four hours completely on your own,” I said.

“I managed because I had to,” Ethan replied.

“Come into the kitchen.

There’s something else you need to see.”

I followed him to the table.

On the wooden surface lay a sheet of white paper printed from his computer, split into seven neat columns.