She found him exactly as the monitor had shown him — standing between the two cribs in the dark, looking down at his sons, the old lullaby barely audible now, more breath than song.
He heard her come in and stopped immediately. He turned. In the soft nightlight of the nursery his face was wet and he made no move to hide it, which told her something about how far past self-presentation he had gone tonight.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know I shouldn't be here."
"No," she said. "You shouldn't."
"I'll go."
"You have five minutes." She crossed the room and stood at the foot of Noah's crib and looked down at her sleeping son. "Then you go through the front door like a person, not the beach path like someone who knows they're not supposed to be somewhere."
He exhaled slowly. "Thank you
