(Hailey Miller POV)
The house held its breath. I don't know if I slept or only closed my eyes and listened to the small metronome beside me. Caleb finds my chest in the dark like a compass needle—urgent, sure. Isabella lets out a tiny surprised peep and settles with that stubborn, practiced calm babies have. I breathe with them; the world narrows to the inhale and the exhale. The hallway clock insists on being seven minutes ahead, as if the house wants me perpetually late for something that hasn’t even begun.
I keep the lights off. Dawn eases itself into the rooms like something polite. I cradle Caleb with my left arm, pull Isabella in with my right forearm, and search for the slight angle where gravity helps rather than fights. It still hurts—everything does—but pain with direction is b
