Summer again, and Kade made good on what he had said on the Amalfi terrace years before.
He asked me, on a Sunday morning in June, if I wanted another baby.
The children were four now. The company was stable. The threats had resolved. He had said, ask me again in two years, and I had said, noted, and two years had in fact become three, but here was the question.
I looked at him across the breakfast table. Nora was reading. James was attempting to build a tower from his toast, which was not going well structurally.
I thought about it genuinely.
Three was a larger number than two. Three meant a different kind of morning, a different kind of holiday, a different kind of daily logistics management. Three meant something bigger.
"Yes," I said.
He looked up.
"Yes?" he said.
"Yes," I sai
