Lena's POV
It was the crackers that started it.
Two forty-seven in the morning and I was standing in the kitchen in my robe and slippers, eating crackers directly from the box because the baby had apparently decided that two forty-seven was the correct time to need something and had communicated this through a level of insistence that made staying horizontal impossible.
I was on my fourth cracker when the kitchen light came on.
I spun around.
Abel stood in the doorway in a grey t-shirt and sweatpants, hair undone from its usual shape, holding his phone and looking at me with the expression of someone who had expected the kitchen to be empty and was recalibrating.
We looked at each other.
"Crackers," he said.
"The baby wants crackers."
"At three in the morning."
"The baby does not
