The first thing Lorrlyne Reyes did after Willow and Zane finished the dishes, put them away, and sat down for tea was not sit down.
She stood there for a moment instead, taking in the room the way women who have raised children tend to do. Not critically. Assessing. Her gaze moved over the chair Willow favored, the placement of the bassinet, the open notebook on the counter with feeding times scribbled in uneven ink. She clocked the half-empty mug gone cold beside the sink, the faint tension in Zane's shoulders that hadn't quite left him since the NICU days. Then, apparently satisfied with what she saw, she turned and went straight for the bags she had bought and made Zane carry.
