One week. Dorothy had been living with Kylee for one week, and with Jake home it felt both easier and infinitely more terrifying.
The routine had settled into something almost normal. Wake at 2 AM for feeding. Back to sleep. Wake at 5 AM. Back to sleep. Wake at 8 AM to Jake already up, making coffee, eager to hold his daughter before he left for work.
Dorothy moved through the motions—bottles, diapers, burping, rocking. She’d gotten good at it. Better than she’d expected. Kylee was an easy baby, all things considered. She cried when she was hungry or needed changing, but otherwise slept and ate and stared at the world with dark, unfocused eyes.
Jake was besotted. Completely, utterly in love. He took photos constantly—Kylee sleeping, Kylee yawning, Kylee gripping his finger with her tiny
