If a bottle needed washing, he cleaned it. If one baby cried, he moved before I could stand. When I reached for something, he quietly said:
“I’ve got it.”
One night, I woke and heard voices in the nursery.
Trevor had fallen asleep in the rocking chair with one daughter resting against his chest. The other slept nearby.
Frank stood in the doorway.
He gently placed a blanket over his son’s shoulders and whispered:
“You’re already better than I was.”
Trevor did not hear him.
I did.
The next day, Trevor finally asked why Frank had come.
“When your mother needed me, I chose myself,” Frank answered. “I’ve spent thirty-two years wishing I could change that decision.”
He looked toward the nursery.
“When Katie called, I realized I could not repair my family. But perhaps I could help save yours.”
That evening, Trevor found me folding baby clothes.
