I stood by the cribs and listened to her heels click down the hallway, the sound fading as she reached the front door.
By four in the afternoon, the grey autumn light made the living room look smaller than it was. Ethan came through the door, dropping his briefcase on the bottom step of the stairs with a heavy thud. He did not go up to the nursery to see the children.
I met him near the window, where the cold air seeped through the wooden frame.
“Your mother was here,” I said.
Ethan tapped his index finger against his thigh, a quick, light rhythm that matched the fast pitch of his voice. “I hope she brought some of those grocery coupons she keeps talking about.”
“I found a travel receipt in the study this morning,” I said, keeping my voice level and finishing with a quiet, firm cadence. “For Cabo.”
Ethan did not stop tapping his leg. “That was a corporate booking, Clara. Donald asked me to handle the reservation for one of our regional accounts.”
