It happened on an ordinary afternoon.
Which, in Michael Co’s life lately, meant nothing was actually ordinary at all.
Marnie was resting on the couch, half-sitting, half-lying down with pillows supporting her back and sides. The afternoon sun filtered softly through the curtains, painting the living room in warm gold. Her feet were slightly swollen, her back a little sore, and her patience thinner than usual—but she was content.
Michael, meanwhile, was pacing.
Again.
She watched him from the corner of her eye, amused and slightly exasperated.
“Michael,” she said gently. “You’ve walked from the window to the kitchen fourteen times.”
He stopped mid-step. “I’m thinking.”
“That’s what you said five laps ago.”
“I’m thinking about the babies.”
“That doesn’t require cardio.”
He ignored
