He fist-pumps them scrambles out of his cave.
I glance down at the baby in my arms. “Andyou, little lady, can have some veggies with your milk. No pizza yet.”
Agnes blows a bubble at me. I’ll assume that’s agreement.
I get her set up in her high chair and start chopping. She watches me like I’m performing high art. By the time the pizzas are assembled and, in the oven, she’s kicking her feet at every sound the timer makes.
Once dinner’s ready, we sit on the floor, paper plates, two slices each, Agnes happily chewing on bits of topping I tear small enough not to choke on. Milo demolishes his slices like he hasn’t eaten in years.
When they’re both settled, Milo given strict instructions not to sit too close to the TV. I scoop up Agnes and take her to the bedroom. New diaper, warm bottle, her tiny body softening into mine as she drinks.
As her eyes flutter closed, I can’t look away.
The trust there, pure, uncomplicated, hits me straight in the feelings. How fathers give this up for girlfriends or work, I’ll never understand. You’d have to pry these kids out of my cold dead hands.
The next morning, I’m back in motion, school drop-off for Milo, then Agnes in her carrier as I pull into Lore’s driveway.
I’ve called her three times. Texted her several more.
Nothing.
I stop the engine and stare at the house.
Something feels wrong.
Carrying Agnes’s carrier, I hurry up the walkway and knock. Waiting a few seconds. I knock again then press the doorbell twice.
Still nothing.
A cold pit opens in my stomach.
I dig out my keys with shaking fingers, unlock the door, and push it open. “Lore?” My voice echoes through the quiet house.
No answer.
I set Agnes by the door and take the stairs two at a time. I check the bedroom, the bathroom, the kids’ rooms.
My heartbeat is pounding inside my throat now.
I jog back downstairs, dialing her again. Straight to voicemail.
Panic starts crawling up my ribs. I pull up my mom’s number and I’m just about to press call when something beside the sofa catches my eye.
A shoe connected to a leg, Lore. Oh God.
Gripping the phone, I lunge forward.
“Lore!” The word tears out of me as I fall to my knees. Rolling her limp body onto her back I touch her ice-cold face, it’s pale, almost gray, and her eyes stay closed.
“Lorelie, come on, baby, wake up.”
Nothing.
My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop my phone while dialing 911. I lean down and press my ear to her chest, desperate for any sign of strength.
Her pulse is there. Barely.
Agnes is crying now, the sound sharp and frantic, and I think I might be crying too. I cannot tell. None of it matters.
