My wife was so exhausted she could barely stand, but my mother insisted on “helping” with the baby. I came home early and found my wife fainting on the sofa while my mother sat nearby, ignoring the baby’s frantic cries and eating a meal my wife had

Not shattered. Not explosive.

Quiet.

I crossed the room, lifted my son first, pressed him against my chest, and felt his tiny body shaking. Then I knelt beside Clara.

“Clara,” I whispered, touching her cheek. “Baby, wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered. She tried to speak, but only a weak breath escaped.