Every day, he would roll the twins to shil and his friends would have to tell him to shut up, they’d already heard all his stories about the babies, and no, they didn’t want to see his new photos either. At two in the morning, when she would be too exhausted to lift the babies out of their cribs to feed them, he’d help her. Afterward, when she was lying in her tousled bed, smelling of sour milk and unwashed linen, she would hear him murmuring lullabies, an infant over each arm, rocking them in the front room so as not to disturb her.
