I rubbed a hand over my face. It was the middle of the night—maybe three?—but this was usually the day I crossed the porch to help with breakfast or get Winnie dressed. Seeing Brian and Selene on the doorstep yesterday had sent me into an oddly jealous tailspin. I hadn’t stopped thinking about either of them.
Not for a second.
I pulled on a shirt and headed downstairs. I crossed the porch steps and knocked, but there was no answer. After a beat, I used my key and pushed the door open gently.
“Selene?” I called, soft and low.
No answer.
Then—
“Oh, honey—no, no, no—wait—” I could hear Selene’s voice from upstairs, sharper now. Panicked.
Something splattered, and when a barely audible whimper floated down the stairs, that was enough for me.
I took the stairs toward Selene’s bedroom two at a time. I found my girls in a tangle on the floor of the primary bathroom—Selene crouched on the tile, cradling Winnie, who looked utterly miserable. Her dark waves were sweaty and stuck to her forehead, her face flushed, and her little hands clung to her mom’s shirt like she was trying not to fall apart.
There was vomit. Not crime scene worthy, but enough to ruin a morning.
Selene was still in the same cotton shirt from yesterday—my shirt, technically. Her hair was messy, pulled half up in a clip that was losing the fight. She looked pale. Exhausted. Her knees were buckled like she might collapse.
“Hey,” I said, moving toward them. “Let me help.”
Selene looked up at me, startled. “I—I’ve got her. I just need a?—”
“Selene.” I crouched beside her and gently slid Winnie into my arms before she could argue. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine,” she lied unconvincingly, blinking too slowly.
Winnie pressed her overheated cheek against my chest. She didn’t even protest the transfer, which told me exactly how bad she felt.
“This is nothing,” I said, giving her a small smile as I stood with Winnie. “I’ve seen worse. Locker rooms. College road trips. One time at the gym, a guy puked on my shoes mid–dead lift.”
Selene made a weak noise that might’ve been a laugh—or a sob. I couldn’t quite tell.
“Sit down,” I told her. “You’re running on fumes.”
“I’ll clean it?—”
“I said sit.” My voice was still soft, but firmer now. “You did the night shift. I’ve got this.”
She swayed a little on her feet, then finally nodded, sinking back to her knees in front of the toilet.
I carried Winnie across the bathroom, cradling her against me as I ran cool water into the sink and grabbed a clean washcloth. She didn’t say much, just clung tighter when I set her down on the countertop to rinse her off.
“You’re okay, bug,” I murmured, swiping the damp towel across her sticky cheeks. “You’ve got two grown adults who are absolute messes and still somehow trying to keep you alive. That’s gotta count for something.”
Winnie sniffled. “My tummy hurts.”
“Yeah. I know.” I patted her shoulder, feeling helpless. “Mine would too after chicken nuggets and four bites of a crayon yesterday.”
She gave a faint giggle. At least the kid still had her sense of humor.
Once she was clean and wrapped in a fresh towel burrito, I walked her into Selene’s bedroom and placed her on one side, tucking her into the plush comforter with a small trash can beside her, just in case.
Then I headed back into the bathroom to find Selene, arm draped on the toilet seat, the other arm draped across her stomach. She was breathing slowly. Too slowly.
“Hey,” I said gently, brushing the backs of my fingers against her neck. She was burning up. “Selene.”
