“She’s a baby,” he says. “We thought they just cry when they need food, or sleep, or a new nappy. But we tried all of that, and it didn’t work.” “They’re not Tamagotchis,” I say reproachfully. “You don’t just feed them and clean their poop and then ignore them until they die.” Cami sputters, pouting, and I press a kiss to her hair.
