The baby—Swithin’s nearly 2, I should stop calling him “the baby”—is screaming in my ear. I pat his back, swaying. “What’s wrong, little puff? Bad night?” I check his nappy, then his forehead. “You’re allowed a bad night. Should we sing a song? Your sisters always liked my singing …
Basilton this is actually terribly unfair you can’t be this nice ugh
