I hadn't expected Sailor's birth to be as difficult as it was. When I delivered Holden 12 years ago, it wasn't as bad as everyone made it sound. She wanted to see the world so badly that she practically walked out of me. But Sailor was different. Worse, too, because I hadn't seen the pain coming.

My first baby was a vaginal birth, just like I wanted. I planned the same for Sailor, but seeing as nothing else turned out how it was supposed to, it wasn't a surprise that her delivery didn't, either. They sliced me open and cut her out as I laid there, loopy beyond all hell.

Before now, I'd never once been under the knife and I hope I never have to again. The healing process for this incision is pure torture. I can't even get up the front steps of our new home by myself.

Jackson has the baby carrier hanging over one elbow with his opposite hand supporting my weight. "There you go, you got it," he says.

"You coming, Holden?" I ask my twelve-year-old who's walking behind us. She didn't say much on the ride home and I wonder how she's feeling.

"Yeah," she says once we're inside.

This is the first time I'm seeing our house on Valley Point. We put the deposit down a couple months ago, and Jackson has been coming here by himself to renovate on the weekends. He wanted to keep it a surprise, and has been so excited to unveil it. I wish I had the energy to be more excited.

"Here it is!" he announces, making a sweeping gesture with one arm. "What do you think? Looks a lot different than it did in March, right?"

"It really does," I say, eyeing the couch. I need to sit down. My whole midsection aches with a pain I never knew possible.

"Here, I wanna show you something. Holden, come look! You guys are gonna love this," Jackson says, setting Sailor's carrier down on the dining room floor. "She's okay there, right?" he asks me.

"Yeah," I say, following him slowly. I look over my shoulder and nod Holden along. "You wanna come see?'

"Not really," she says, but trudges alongside me to the kitchen - where Jackson is practically bouncing with excitement.

"Look," he says. "A Smart Fridge!"

I take a long look at the screen plastered on the front of our stainless steel refrigerator. It doesn't really matter to me, but it's clear that it matters to him.

"It's awesome, babe," I say.

"Want me to show you what it can do?" he asks. He looks at Holden. "This is why I asked you to come with me last week. I wanted you to see this!"

Holden is quiet. She's known Jackson her whole life - he and I were best friends before any of this happened - and she was always warm towards him. That is, until he and I started seeing each other romantically. Then, things changed.

"It's cool," Holden says.

"Baby... it is cool," I say. "But can we check it out another time? I'm…" I press one hand to my stomach and grimace.

"No, you're right," he says. "We should've gone straight upstairs!"

…

Because I'm moving so slowly, it takes a while to get settled into mine and Jackson's king-sized bed. But eventually, I sit propped up by a good amount of pillows, equipped with my laptop and burp cloths for when Sailor inevitably has to eat.

Jackson left to answer his phone a few minutes ago, and I take advantage of the silence by laying my head back and closing my eyes. Even just shutting them feels like heaven.

"Mom?"

The sound of Holden's voice in the doorway makes me sit up with a jolt. "You scared me," I say, glancing down at Sailor. Her eyes are half-lidded and she's somewhat conscious. Not sleeping but not awake, either. She'll probably spend her first few days at home just like this. In fact, I probably will, too.

"Sorry," Holden says, walking over. She sits on the edge of the bed and watches her sister for a moment. "I have a question. And can you not get mad?"

Holden prefacing a question with "don't get mad" is never a good sign. That much, I've come to know.

"I can try," I say.

"Can I please, please, please get a phone?" she asks. "I have nothing to do and none of my friends are here. I'm so bored, Mom. Please."

I give her a long, hard look. We've had this conversation too many times to count over the past 6 months. "The magic number is 13," I say. "And that's not for 6 more months. So, no, sweetie. Sorry. But think how awesome Christmas will be."

"I don't care about Christmas," she says, pouting now. "What am I even supposed to do without my friends? I can't even talk to them."

"There's plenty to do," I say. "You can talk to me, help with the baby. There's a huge yard out there. Tons of room to play."

"I'm not 5, Mom," she grumbles. "I want something fun to do."

I sigh. Right now, I'm so far past tired that I can't argue with her.

"I'll do some research tomorrow," I say. "Look up a dance class or something, so you can meet kids your age."

"I don't wanna dance, Mom, I want a phone," she says, standing up. "Jackson would say yes."

"Well, Jackson isn't your mom," I say, looking at her through heavy eyelids. "I make the decisions when it comes to you."

"If he's supposed to be my dad, shouldn't you guys decide together?" she asks, testing me.

"Holden," I say. "The answer is no."

"Fine. I'll just be bored and lonely forever," she says, then storms out of the room.

Holden's bedroom door slams and the sudden sound startles Sailor awake. Her tiny, tiny face pinches and her mouth opens wide, and the room becomes filled with the sound of her strained cry.

I hold her close, tucking her face into my neck. It's been so long since I've held something this small. I was a different person entirely when Holden was an infant, with a support system that looked nothing like the one I have now.

"Everything okay?" Jackson asks, hurrying into the room. "Sorry. I got distracted putting away groceries. You need anything?"

I smile to myself. Before, my partner wasn't anything like this.

Jackson and I have been best friends since childhood. We lived on opposite sides of the same cul-de-sac and spent every waking moment together in elementary school. We sported the same skinned knees, missing teeth, and wild freckles. Our teachers called us "The Wonder Twins."

We stayed close through middle and high school, too, but in a different way. In middle school, girls and boys get weird around each other and that was a phenomena we couldn't avoid. I got made fun of for being flat-chested, and even though he was the only one who stood up for me, his face, neck, and ears flamed red every time he did so.

In high school, I was in the marching band and he played football. I watched from the sidelines, quite literally, as he filtered through girlfriends. I couldn't admit to myself then that the crush I had on him was practically killing me. I'm not sure I even recognized it. But I did make sure to find something wrong with each and every one of the girls he dated, and I always let him know in subtle ways. That passive-aggressive pining is something high school kids are so good at.

Then, we got accepted to different colleges. We had once been inseparable, promising to follow each other anywhere. But he got a full ride to Ohio State, and I planned on heading to Georgetown with an all-encompassing academic scholarship. Neither of us could pass those opportunities up, so we didn't. And we grew apart. It was nothing extraordinary or, really, unexpected. It just happened.

Then, I met Matthew. Holden's father. And we seemed to fit together just right. We were both raised religious, though he stuck to his beliefs much firmer than I did. It's not that I didn't believe - or that I don't - but I learned that the bible can be interpreted in many different ways. He was never open to that conversation, but it was something I chose to look past. One of many.

He and I were together for less than 12 months during my senior year of college. We became friends while I was a junior and he was a senior; he asked me out after he graduated. I said yes because I'd never had a real boyfriend, and I wanted stability. I still remember how good it felt to be wanted.

Everyone preaches not to settle - that is, until you're presented with the choice. I could choose between dating Matthew, who I could never love, or being alone. And I was tired of being alone.

We were never married, which made it that much easier for him to disappear once Holden was born. And that's exactly what he did. I called him when I went into labor, driven by my mom, and he didn't pick up. My mom held my hand as I pushed Holden into the world, and stayed with me for both nights at the hospital. She helped me and the baby home once it was time to go, and stayed with us for three months - the three months that it took to accept that Matthew wasn't coming back. He has never once laid eyes on his daughter, nor paid us a cent.

Jackson is different. So different. He wants to spend time with us - me, Holden, and now Sailor. He met Holden at three years old, when she came with me to a class reunion. The two of them struck up a friendship instantly, which is why it breaks my heart to see their relationship splinter like it's been doing lately.

"I'm good," I say, then pat the bed. "Come sit by me."

Carefully, Jackson lowers onto his side of the mattress and gazes at Sailor for a long moment. Then, he lifts his eyes to mine and breaks into a huge smile, saying, "Guess what? We made her."

"We did," I say, stroking the soft bundle of swaddle blankets that she's wrapped in. "You wanna hold her, Daddy?"

At the hospital, I could barely get him to let her go. But now, he seems a little wary. I know exactly how he's feeling. We're at home, without nurses or lactation consultants. We have a little life that we're completely responsible for. She depends on us for absolutely everything.

I realize it shouldn't blow my mind as much as it does, given Sailor isn't my first infant. But with Holden, a lot of my amazement was overrun by fear. I was scared of hurting her, scared of doing something - or everything - wrong. I was all alone once my mom left, and so clueless. This time, I hope things will be different.

"Show me how," he says.

I smile softly and say, "You know how. Support her head." I shift Sailor from my arms to Jackson's, then relax against the mountain of pillows. "There, see?"

"Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah, we got this. We got this, me and the little captain." He smirks and then looks up. "Get it? 'Cause, her name is Sailor?"

"I get it," I say back.

"Yet you couldn't spare a laugh," he says, looking back to our daughter's face.

"I would've, had it deserved one," I say lightly.

I close my eyes for a moment until I feel Jackson's fingers lace through mine. "How's your incision?" he asks.

I open my eyes and pare back the thick comforter, taking a deep breath before lifting up the hem of my t-shirt. "I think it's okay," I say, tracing the border of the bandage that covers it. "This should be changed tomorrow."

"I can help," he says, then kisses my cheek. "I'll be gentle."

"You're always gentle," I say, leaning to rest my head on his shoulder. Being close to him feels so good after all I've been through in the last few days. "That's why I love you."

"But I'm still a he-man, right?" he says, gnashing his teeth for effect. I groan playfully and nudge him hard, getting him to stop.

"Sure," I say. "Whatever you want."

Sailor starts to whimper, letting me know she's on the way to tears. "Is she hungry?" Jackson asks.

"She might be," I say, slowly sitting up straighter. "I'll try and feed her."

He gingerly hands the baby over after I adjust my shirt, and I do my best to help her latch. I guide my nipple to her lips just like the consultant showed me, and luckily it doesn't take long. Sailor's eyes stay at half-mast while she eats, and Jackson rests a hand over where mine lays.

"Look at her ears," he says softly. "They're moving."

I smile and see that he's right. It reminds me of a very similar view from when Holden was little. "Holden's used to do that, too," I whisper, so I don't startle Sailor.

"You make tiny little Dumbo babies," he says.

"Pretty damn cute for Dumbo," I say.

"I think I put in most of the work there," he says, then kisses my shoulder. "How do you think Holden's taking all this?"

"She wants a phone," I say, stroking Sailor's sparse hair. "I'm pretty sure that's all that's on her mind right now."

Jackson pauses to think for a minute. "Do you think she feels excluded?"

We talked about this - amongst ourselves and with Holden - before the baby was born. How our family unit would change, and how much attention Sailor would need in the beginning. We let Holden know that Sailor's neediness didn't mean we loved her any less.

"I'm not sure," I say. "But she's not getting a phone out of it."

"Why does it sound like you think I'm gonna give in?" he asks playfully.

"'Cause you're a pushover," I say. "And you know it."

"Yeah, I do," he concedes, then sighs. "I just don't want her to feel like...we upgraded, or something."

"I don't want her to feel like that, either," I say.

"Tomorrow, we should talk to her."

"Okay," I say, leaning back with the baby still latched and eating. "Tomorrow sounds great. Tomorrow, we can do anything. But right now…"

I close my eyes and fall asleep with Sailor on my chest before I can even finish my sentence.

…

A few days pass where we work on getting settled in the house. I'm not supposed to lift anything heavier than the baby, though, so I stand on the sidelines most of the time while Holden helps Jackson with empty bookcases, book boxes, and other miscellaneous items for the living room.

"It's looking really great, you guys," I say, bringing them each a glass of cold lemonade. Jackson guzzles it in one gulp, while Holden takes it slower. "I feel like I should be helping."

"Mom, no," Holden says. "Your scar will rip open."

She's done some thawing out since we moved in. She's not completely back to her pre-baby self, but we're getting there.

"Just light things, then," I say. "Something light. Maybe some blankets?"

"Babe, you're fine," Jackson says, lugging four empty dresser drawers from the foyer to the top of the stairs. With the open layout, I can still see him from where I stand by the front door. "We got it covered. Right, Hold?"

"She can't lift things, because of her scar," Holden says, not answering his question.

Holden is a little wary of my scar because she walked in on Jackson changing my bandage the other night. The doctors prepared me for what it would look like - I knew it wouldn't be pretty. And Jackson isn't bothered by much of anything. Holden, on the other hand, went pale when she saw it.

It takes 6 weeks to heal, and it's only been 6 days. So, admittedly, right now it doesn't look great. But I still don't want her to worry.

"You can just sit down, Mom," Holden says. "Please. Sailor wants you to hold her."

"She might want you to," I say, extending my arms a bit. Sailor has gotten better at keeping her eyes open, and she's a remarkably quiet baby. Holden wasn't colicky by any means, but she fussed much more than Sailor does. So far, my youngest is happy just watching the world go by - as long as she's near me.

"No," Holden says. "She wants you."

She hasn't held the baby yet. I offered at the hospital when Sailor was brand new, but Holden was too skittish. Now, she produces excuse after excuse. Jackson tells me not to push her, so I try not to.

"You know, you can hold her whenever you want," I say, stroking the baby's back through the thin cloth of the sling that holds her to my chest. "Or you can wear her."

"I don't really wanna wear the baby."

"Hey, who wants me to start dinner?" Jackson asks, coming up beside us to lead the way into the kitchen. "What sounds good?"

I know he barged in to stop me from prodding at Holden. He always plays the mediator.

"I don't know," Holden answers.

"Okay. What sounds good to you, Mama?" Jackson asks.

"Oof," I say, gently lowering myself into the armchair that sits randomly in the kitchen. It hasn't been moved into its rightful place yet, but I kind of like it here. "Enough spaghetti to feed an army. Like The Rock in The Game Plan. That much spaghetti."

The Game Plan is imprinted into my memory because it used to be Holden's favorite movie. We watched it at least once a day, and I can quote it by heart. She can too, but it's rare anymore that she will.

"That means a lot of spaghetti," Holden says, translating for Jackson.

"Does that sound good to you?" he asks, and she nods with a shrug. "Alright. Italian it is."

I stay in the chair and nurse Sailor while Jackson putters around in the kitchen. Holden sits on the counter and doesn't say much, but I'm glad she's here. I don't like it when she hides up in her room. It makes me feel so separate from her.

"So, I gotta go back to work tomorrow," Jackson says.

He recently started a new job, which is the whole reason we moved. He felt like he couldn't ask for much time off post-baby, and I told him he didn't need to worry about it. But that was before Sailor was born and my anxiety was at a normal level. Now, the thought of being alone with the kids in this giant, echoey house terrifies me.

I know it shouldn't. I'm being irrational. But my hormones are still all out of whack; I'm allowed to be a little unreasonable.

"Do you have to?" I ask.

Holden looks up. I wonder if she's thinking the same thing that I am - that I really don't want him to go. He's the grounding force in our little family.

"We agreed it would be best," he says, turning around from where he stands at the oven. "I told my boss I'd be there. I only took a week off."

"I know, but…" I wave a hand and shake my head. "I'm being stupid. I'm sorry. Yes, of course it's fine that you go back. It's good. It'll give us a little girl time."

He smiles softly and asks, "Are you sure?"

"We'll be fine," I say, convincing everyone who's listening.

The girls are so far apart in age that I'm already worried about how torn I'll be. Up until now, I could depend on Jackson to find Holden something to do. Now, that'll be up to me.

I wouldn't be daunted in the slightest - taking care of my daughter is second nature - if Sailor weren't so tiny. By definition, as a newborn, she can't function on her own. My eyes should never leave her, unless she's sleeping. And in this big, old house, sometimes I even feel uneasy doing that.

I'll have to figure out a way to split my time between a preteen and a newborn. There will be adjustments. I take a look at Holden's pretty face and she looks back at me with her green eyes, and I can't help but feel warm. Of course, everything will be okay. I have time to spend with the two people in the world who I created.

…

The next morning, I'm sitting at the table cradling Sailor when Jackson hurries in. He's wearing work clothes - something I haven't seen him in for a while - and they make him look sharp and professional.

"You look nice," I say, taking a big bite of jelly toast. I had forgotten how hungry nursing makes me.

"Why, thank you," he says, bending a little further to kiss Sailor's forehead. "Where's big sis?"

"Sleeping," I say. "She'll probably be out until 11, at least. She's a preteen now, remember."

"Of course," he says with a smile.

"Do you want breakfast?" I ask. I nudge my plate towards him, offering up the toast that's left, even though I'm still hungry.

"I'll pick up something on the way," he says, kissing me again. This time, he makes it count by tipping up my chin with one finger and pressing his lips to mine. We both pull away grinning. "I promise not to be home a minute after 5."

"Don't worry, honey," I say, watching him buzz around the kitchen to grab everything he needs. "We'll be fine."

"Okay," he says, snatching his keys. "Call if you need anything. Love you."

"Love you," I say, then blow him a kiss as he heads to the garage.

I listen for the sound of his car starting, then the garage door opening. I hear the car pull out, then the garage door shut. And after that, I'm left in complete silence. Unnerving silence, actually.

I take a bite of toast and come to the conclusion that my chewing must be the loudest sound to ever grace the earth. I look down at Sailor, who's staring at me with round, dark eyes, and thumb a few crumbs off her forehead. "Sorry, sweets," I say, chuckling. "You might have to get used to that."

With the baby in tow, I put my dish in the sink and get the kettle ready for tea. I bounce Sailor and look out the window with her, talking as I go.

"This sure is a big house for four people," I say. "Doesn't it seem huge?" Obviously, the baby doesn't answer. "Of course it seems huge to you. You're tiny." I smile at my own words and kiss her forehead over and over. "We're starting to get to know each other a little better, huh? Right, beautiful girl?"

The kettle screams and I take it off the burner. After that, it's quiet once again - only this time, I have tea.

"We need some music," I tell Sailor, and shuffle a playlist filled with happy, peppy songs.

Instantly, I feel better.

"We can organize the baby cupboard," I say, avoiding the dishes that I left in the sink. Washing them has to be my least favorite chore. "Get all your baby stuff in order. How does that sound? Sound fun?" Sailor, quiet as ever, stares while opening and closing her mouth. "No, it doesn't sound fun to me, either," I admit. "But at least it'll pass the time."

I get the sling so I can hold the baby on my chest while removing bottles, the bottle cleaner, the pacifier stash, the first aid kit, my breast pump, and the bottle warmer. Once everything is on the counter, I raise my eyebrows and take a step back.

"You're not even two weeks old, and you have more stuff than I do," I joke, smirking at Sailor. Sailor, who could not care less what I say. She just likes hearing me talk. "Do you think the breast pump really belongs in there? Because I don't think I-"

Interrupting my monologue, I hear Holden's voice just under the chorus of Kelly Clarkson singing Since U Been Gone.

"Mom?"

"There's your sister," I say, then raise my voice over Kelly. "Yeah?"

I wait, one hand flat over the curve of Sailor's back. I get no response.

"Holden, what?"

It's not even 9am, so I'm surprised she's conscious. Maybe she didn't sleep well last night. I know I didn't.

I wait and decide that she must have figured out whatever it was on her own. So, I go back to organizing baby items - only to hear her voice again.

"Mom!"

"Yes?" I call, a bit irritated. "Holden, I don't really wanna yell across the house."

"Mom?"

"Come downstairs!" I snap, leaning on the island. "Goodness gracious, Sailor. What's she thinking?"

"Mom…!?"

"Good lord," I say, shaking my head. "Is she on fire? If this is for a lost sock, I'm gonna lose it, Sai."

I trudge up the stairs, huffing and puffing once I get to the top, and head down the hall to Holden's room. It's the very last one on the right; I have no clue how I heard her voice so clearly from downstairs - especially over the music.

"Holden, next time, can you please come downstairs instead of shouting the house down? There's a better way to d-"

I cut myself off mid-sentence because, when I open Holden's door, I find her curled up and asleep in her bed. She's sleeping like she always does, rolled in a ball with both hands tucked under her chin, her lips pushed out like she's waiting for a kiss.

I stand there for a long moment, waiting for her to start laughing or open her eyes, but she doesn't. She remains completely still, and her breath comes slowly. I watch her comforter rise and fall with its rhythm. She's dead asleep, not even dreaming.

"Well," I say, turning around to shut the door. I look at the baby, but have nothing more to say.

I'm lost in thought until I get back to the kitchen. Looking around, I can sense that something is wrong. Something feels wrong.

Then I realize. The music has stopped, and the baby things have been put away. I can see them, perfectly organized, inside the glass-paned cabinet.

I blink hard and exhale sharply. With my eyebrows knitted together, I survey the kitchen and find it much neater than I thought I left it.

"Good god, Sailor," I mutter, dragging my fingernails gently over the round of her back. "Your mom is losing it."

…

Later that night, I'm in Holden's room as she gets ready for bed. She isn't really interested in being tucked in anymore, but I still like to spend time with her before she goes to sleep.

Her russet-colored hair is darkened from the shower, and brushed away from her face. Her freckles are on full display given that it's summertime, and her face is free of any imperfections.

We didn't see much of each other today. She stayed in her room, starting and finishing a book in just one day. She came down for lunch, but continued to read, and I let her. We all need to find our footing in this new environment, and she deserves space to do it.

I sit on the bed with Sailor in my arms, cuddled in her sleep sack. She has a tiny pacifier in her mouth that's oscillating slowly as she falls asleep, and her eyes pop open from their halfway position once Holden joins us on the bed.

"How was your book?" I ask.

Her face lights up at the mention of it. "Really good," she says. "You gotta read it. Can we go to Target tomorrow so I can get book 2?"

It was The Hunger Games that she was reading. "Sure," I say. "That sounds fun."

"Cool," she says, smiling. Then, she looks at Sailor. "We should've named her Primrose. That's Katniss's sister in the book."

"We could've called her 'Prim,'" I say.

"That's what Katniss calls her sister!" Holden says, still grinning. "She volunteers for her when Prim gets picked for the Games. It's like this big, huge thing."

"That sounds intense," I say.

"It is. And Ayana said the other books are even more intense. That's why I can't wait to read them." She pauses for a moment to look at the baby. "If Sailor got picked, I'd volunteer for her."

My chest floods with warmth. "You're a good sister," I say.

With round, glassy eyes, Sailor blinks at her sister while still sucking away on the pacifier. "I think she's listening," Holden giggles. "She's staring at me."

"Oh, she loves to stare," I say in my baby voice. "And she loves to stare at you the most because you're so pretty."

"Mom…" Holden groans, but a smile plays on her lips as she says it.

"She's in a good mood, if you wanna hold her," I say. I had to try. Just once. I won't push if she says no.

But she doesn't say no.

"Okay," Holden says, then holds her arms out in a rigid O shape.

"Soften," I whisper. "Don't be nervous."

"She's so little," Holden murmurs as I set Sailor into her arms. She molds her grip to the baby's shape and soon settles into having her close. She looks at me, wearing a bemused smile with lit-up eyes, and laughs incredulously. "And so cute, Mom!"

"I know," I say, curled around one daughter as she holds the other. "See her little nose? That's just what yours looked like when you were tiny."

Holden gazes at the baby, her eyes full of emotion, and traces Sailor's nonexistent eyebrows. "Whoa," she says, unable to stop grinning. "I can't believe how light she is. And someday she's gonna be as big as me."

"Yep," I say.

"Mom," Holden says, her voice growing serious. "Will people think it's weird if I call Jackson 'dad'? 'Cause he's not really my dad. He's Sailor's dad, and it's pretty obvious because I don't look like him, and she does get to look like him. And she'll call him 'dad,' because duh… and, I don't know, I just feel like it's weird to always call him Jackson. But I don't know if it's actually weird to call him 'dad.'"

I take a moment to study Holden's profile, then I cover one of her hands with my own. I stroke her fingers, then kiss the side of her head. I say, "Nothing about a blended family is weird. You can call Jackson whatever you want. He'd say, just don't call him late for dinner."

Holden snorts. "He literally tells the worst jokes."

"That he does," I say, then kiss her again. "But really, baby, if you feel like calling him 'dad' one day, then you should. But you don't have to force it. Also, just because he looks like Sailor doesn't mean he's less of a father figure to you."

"But he helped make her," she says. "And that's not how it went with me."

"You're right," I say. "But he loves you a lot. Just as much as he loves her. He'd be honored to know that you think of him like a dad."

She nods once, blinking rapidly while running her fingers through Sailor's flyaway curls. "Don't tell him yet, okay?" she asks. "I only want you to know."

"Sure," I say, then take the baby when Holden hands her over. "Just between us, for now."

She lays down, getting comfortable on the pillow. She looks up with the duvet pulled to her chin, and smiles without showing teeth. "Night, Sailor," she says, extending one arm to touch the bundle I'm holding.

"Night, Sissy," I make Sailor say, then squeeze Holden's hand. "Night, honey. I love you. Big as the sky."

"Big as the sky, Mom," she says, then closes her eyes.

…

In bed that night with the baby asleep in the nursery, I let out a loud and dramatic sigh.

"Long day?" Jackson asks, walking out of the bathroom while still flossing. When he's done, he tosses the string in the garbage and climbs into bed beside me.

"It was fine," I say, scooting close. "How was work?"

"Monotonous," he says. "All day, I kept wishing I was home. The only thing that got me through was my lock screen."

His iPhone's lock screen is a shot taken the morning after Sailor was born. I'm lying on a bed holding the baby, Holden is sandwiched in beside me, and Jackson has my feet on his lap. It's our very first full family photo.

"You're so cute," I say, feeling content as I close my eyes.

"What did you guys get up to today?"

I spend a moment thinking until the memory from this morning comes back. "Oh," I say, propping myself up on an elbow. "Actually, this morning was super odd."

"Odd?" he prompts. "Like how?"

"Just odd," I say. "I was organizing the kitchen with Sailor when I could've sworn I heard Holden call me from upstairs. Like, three or four times. I was listening to music and it was hard to hear, so I went upstairs. And when I got up here, she was fast asleep."

Jackson chuckles. "Sounds like she was pranking you."

"No, she wasn't," I say, eyebrows furrowing. "She was completely asleep, I'm telling you."

"Huh," he says. "Maybe there was something in the music that sounded like her."

"Maybe," I say, unconvinced. "But it was weirder when I came downstairs. Before I went up, I had everything laid out that I was organizing. And when I came back down, it was all put away."

He looks at me pensively. "You're sure you didn't just forget doing it?"

"I mean, I could've…" I say. "I don't know. It was just off-putting. It scared me."

"It was your first day alone," he says, snuggling me closer. "The same thing probably would've happened to me."

"It just felt… wrong," I say. "Like something in the air felt different. Off. I don't know, I'm not explaining it very well."

"Do you want me to check the house?" he asks, completely serious. This is why I love him. He always takes me seriously when the situation calls for it.

"No, no," I say, shaking my head. "Stay here. I'm okay. I just wanted to tell you."

"Keep me updated if anything else happens," he says.

"Okay," I say, my cheek squished against his chest. "You ready to go to sleep? I'm beat."

"I can get the baby when she cries," he tells me.

"Thanks," I say, eyes already closing. "There's breastmilk in the fridge."

I close my eyes and drift off almost instantly. So fast, that I don't hear the bathroom faucets turn on - every single one in the house. The master bathroom, Holden's bathroom, the one off the laundry room, and the one in the basement.

In the morning, we wake up to sopping wet floors and no one knows why.