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When she reached the nursery doorway, he was kneeling on the rug with a wrench in his hand.
One side of the crib was already loose.
The fitted sheet had been pulled off and thrown into the rocking chair.
The little mobile with felt moons and stars hung above nothing.
“What are you doing?” Mia asked.
Her voice came out quiet, but the room seemed to hear it.
Evan did not look guilty.
He looked annoyed.
“My sister needs it more,” he said, turning a bolt with a sharp twist of his wrist.
Mia stared at him.
“What?”
“She’s having twins,” he said. “You know that.”
“I know that,” Mia said. “I also know this crib was made for our daughter.”
Evan huffed as if she had missed something obvious.
“It’s a crib, Mia.”
It was not just a crib.
Her father had built it.
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