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The morning was cold enough to frost the inside edge of the nursery window.
The heat clicked through the vents.
Somewhere downstairs, a cabinet slammed.
Mia had been on her way to make toast when she heard the sound from the nursery.
Metal against wood.
A small scrape.
Then another.
At first, she thought Evan might be fixing the drawer under the crib.
He had installed it crooked two weeks earlier and promised he would “get to it.”
That was Evan’s favorite phrase.
He would get to the drawer.
He would get to the credit card bill.
He would get to calling his mother before she showed up unannounced.
He would get to everything except the thing Mia actually needed.
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