(Sean's POV)
Hannah stays after the soup — to help with Jack, she says. She helps. And Jack lights up the way he always does when she walks in. That wide, immediate brightness. The grin that pulls his whole face open, arms reaching before she's through the doorway.
I watch from the kitchen.
She checks his temperature. Palm flat on his forehead, then the back of her hand to his cheek — smooth, practiced. Choreographed. A role learned and played.
She pulls the blanket up. Tucks it under his chin with both hands — a tuck, a pat, a smoothing of fabric that looks maternal and isn't. I know it isn't because I've seen maternal. Rebecca at 3 a.m., eyes half shut, not performing for anyone, not even awake enough to know she was doing it. Just hands finding a blanket and a small body and doing w
