EMMA
Reagan has been on my lap now for almost half an hour, her head permanently wedged under my chin. I keep rocking her back and forth, hoping that at some point, she’s going to relax enough to close her eyes. Caroline is sitting next to me on the carpet, leaving both their beds abandoned.
“How about we sing a song?” I suggest.
“Okay,” Reagan agrees, peeking out from underneath my chin for a second. “But I still don’t want to go to sleep.”
“Oh, honey, the bad man is gone.”
Caroline picks at the carpet with one hand while the other stays firmly attached to my knee. “Yeah, but we’ll have nightmares now.”
“Mhmm.” Reagan’s muffled agreement comes from somewhere near my collarbone.
Sighing, I kiss Reagan’s head and then pat Caroline’s hand. I hate that f*****g reporter for scaring them
