When I walked into the living room, the sound of Scott’s short shallow breaths hit me first. I hustled over to him. Distress washed over me, and my heart sank. His extreme pallor starkly contrasted with the two points of color high on his cheeks.
I approached carefully, ensuring I was in his line of sight.
Could he even see me?
Positioning myself between him and the car seats was a risk, but I didn’t see that I had any other choice.
He’d wrapped his arms around his waist. How could he breathe with that tight grip?
The cat, who’d been conspicuously absent since the babies arrived, now sat beside Scott and headbutted his arm.
Scott didn’t react.
“Hey.” I used my soothing social-worker voice.
Still no change.
“I’m going to touch you.”
Nothing.
Touching without express permission wa
