The babies were sleeping in their three identical cribs, their small chests rising and falling under the thin yellow blankets.
“He left before six,” I said, my voice low and slow.
My mother did not look up from her ring. “A man in Ethan’s position has corporate responsibilities, Clara. You must not crowd him during these early months.”
“He did not even look at the boys before he walked out,” I said.
“Men do not connect with infants the way women do,” she whispered, her voice falling into that hushed, dramatic cadence she used whenever she wanted to avoid a difficult truth. “It is our duty to keep the home peaceful so they want to return to it.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the slip of paper I had found on the desk in the study. It was a receipt from a travel agency downtown, printed on thick cream paper that felt too heavy for a simple transaction.
