3 am. The doorbell rings.

She looks through the keyhole.

Him. Just as disheveled. Just as beautiful as always.

It's been nine months since he'd come and she'd just given birth last Tuesday.

And she knew she would let him in and she knew what would happen.

"Just a minute," she yells through the door.

She runs to the nursery and makes sure all is safe and secure there.

Five-day old Polly is asleep in her bassinet.

Nine-month old Lily is curled up in her crib.

Eighteen-month old Michael is sprawled in his crib.

Twenty-seven-month old Olive is snuggled in her bed with three year-old Violet.

She closes the door that was made to look like a bookcase for just this occasion.

She straightens her hair as she rushes back to the front door and opens it.

"Teresa."

She motions him in.