yawned from the couch. Brenda turned to him instantly.
“My poor baby.”
He was thirty‑one years old.
I was thirty‑nine weeks along, carrying a little one who seemed determined to kick right through my ribs. But Brenda crossed the room and pressed the back of her hand to Jake’s forehead.
“You look exhausted, darling.”
Jake gave me a small, apologetic smile.continue reading …