Sophie looked at me on the other chair, then looked back at David’s profile. She slowly pulled the book back to her chest and took three quiet steps backward into the dark hallway.
I wanted to reach for her, but the simple act of leaning forward sent another wave of heat through my ribs.
“She has been waiting all afternoon for you to read to her, David,” I said.
“We are all waiting for things, Claire,” he said, his voice flat and distant.
“It would take five minutes,” I said.
He finally locked his phone and stood up, not looking at either of us as he walked toward the stairs.
“I need to clear my head,” he said.
By nine o’clock, the baby monitor on the nightstand was humming with low static.
Sophie was asleep in her small room down the hall, her plastic doll tucked under her arm.
I lay in the dark of the master bedroom, the pain in my hip throbbing in time with the hum of the monitor.
