Before I respond, he rises and moves for the bassinet, sweeping our newborn son into his arms, his back toward me. The sunlight filtering through the parking-lot-view window engulfs them in a picture-perfect veil of light. But still, I can’t help but wonder—does he want this day? Or does he want more time to figure out what he’s going to tell me?
Damn. She manipulates just like him. She isn’t fooled by his glassy eyes.
