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Me:Busy playing bubbles. Can’t talk.
Valentine:She should have a bath tonight. It’s the first purple tab in the first binder.
Me:It’s a bath, Valentine, not defusing a nuclear bomb.
Me:Go take care of your patient. Isn’t that why you’re there?
Valentine:I cannot tell you how much I hate that I can hear your voice in my head saying every single one of these things.
My lips curved unwittingly, and I was glad she couldn’t see it. If I were a different man, I’d have sent her a different response. Something about how she imagined me when I wasn’t there. But instead, I set my phone down.
It wasn’t until after dinner—I wasn’t proud of it, but once my scrambled eggs ended up on the floor with more tears, I let her raid the bags of groceries I’d brought—that I realized the temptation of those fucking binders.
Starting the bath was easy enough.
Turn on the water. Make sure it’s not too hot.Check.
Pull some clean pajamas off the stack on top of her dresser.Check.
Find the baby shampoo and dump it under the running water.Check.
Mira was wildly unhelpful as I tried to wrangle her clothes off, which was my first hiccup.
“What in the bloody hell,” I muttered when she contorted her body as I tried to pull the shirt over her head. “Hold still.”
She set her jaw and gripped the edge of the tub when I tried to wrestle her hair free. “No bath. I need my ducky.”
“What ducky?” I asked. Was I sweating? I wiped a hand over my forehead, and holy fuck, I was sweating from trying to get her undressed for a bath. “I don’t know where your ducky is. Is he in your room?”
Mira ran across the hall, and I sank against the wall with a deep breath. “Fucking hell,” I whispered.
“Where’s Ducky?” she yelled.
I rolled over to my knees and sighed before standing up. “Hang on, hang on.”
She was yanking clothes out of the bags that Zoe had packed.
“Whoa, okay,” I said. “Easy does it. We’ll find Ducky.”
“Where’s Ducky?” she repeated. Her voice had escalated. Tears were building.
“Can we find him after your bath? Your water will get cold soon.”
She sucked in a breath. Her chin trembled.
“Oh shit,” I muttered.
Then she tipped her head back and let out a massive, ear-shattering wail.
“Right, we’ll find the duck now, then.”
Except I couldn’t.
While Mira sobbed—and truly heartbreaking sobs they were—I ransacked the bags in the bedroom. I tore off the blankets in her crib.
There was a yellow plush duck in the corner. I lifted it up. “This one?”
She cried harder. “No,” she wailed. “Bath ducky. I needbath ducky!”
