FredChapter 9
IT FELT LIKE I’d been stabbed. A sharp pain in my gut, my heart rate somewhere over a hundred. I’d come home at the usual time to find the house apparently empty. Unusual. The ladies should have been home. Our Amy was six months old by then. Fred’s Julian was three months. Both women nursed and they hated pumping. Our temporary nanny, a luxury but a necessary one in this first year while we were still sorting out who would do what in the house, was reading in the nursery. The babies were...