At home, tired and aching and full of a new small person’s pictures on my phone, Mark and I found our way back to tenderness. We slept in a kind of exhausted elation. Romance had always been part courage and part the slow scaffolding of ordinary life; now it was also lullabies and plotting how a child’s first visit to the lot would happen when safety and sugar were negotiable.
There were practical follow-ups—insurance claims, a quick supplier apology and credit, a call to Collins explaining delays in truss delivery and the minor weather-caused setback. We made lists: replace insulation, re-tarp the roof, schedule the next inspection. But the evenings were threaded with baby photos and visits. The new mother’s smile made the world less sharp.
One Sunday morning, when rain had washed the l
