(kealen)
It happened on a Sunday morning, six weeks after the storm.
Kiara was in the middle of her post-feeding stretch — that full-body, completely committed stretch that she did every time, arms out, legs going, her whole face scrunched like she was protesting the existence of gravity — and then she stopped.
Just stopped.
I was watching her in the bassinet, half-awake, coffee in hand, and I saw her go still in that particular way that wasn't sleep. The focused kind of still. Like something was happening inside that she was paying attention to.
"Theron," I said.
"Mm." He was at the desk, working through something, not fully registering.
"Come look at Kiara."
Something in my voice must have cut through, because he was beside me in seconds.
Kiara's hands were curled into tiny fist
