“Can you ever forgive me for this, Rachel?”

I could have reminded him about the receipts in his bag.

I could have brought up the phone calls from the hospital hallway or the way he paced by the vending machines while June whimpered in my arms.

Instead, I looked at his wet face and thought about our daughter sleeping peacefully in her bassinet ten feet away.

“I’m not going to talk about November, December, or January,” I said, my voice steady and plain.

“I’m going to judge you by what you do on Thursday morning.”