Michael was thirty and living overseas. Emma was twenty-eight and lived three states away.
Neither had children.
So who was Greg talking to downstairs?
I slipped out of bed.
I heard the deadbolt turn. Click. The back door opened, then closed.
I ran down barefoot.
The guest-room door was wide open. The rocking chair we’d used for both our babies was moving gently back and forth.
Then the porch light came on.
I pulled back the kitchen curtain… and went pale.
Greg was kneeling in the backyard in his pajamas.