He brought the car to a smooth stop behind a delivery van idling near the curb.

While we sat waiting under the glowing red light, Ethan slid his right hand down below the bottom curve of the steering wheel.

A faint blue screen glow flickered against his trousers in the dark car.

His thumbs moved quickly across the glass, typing out text messages with practiced speed.

I leaned forward between the front bucket seats and saw his profile clearly in the passenger side mirror.

“Is there someone else you’re texting while our baby is in distress?” I asked, my voice cutting through the hum of the heater.