“Something is wrong, Miele … You’re very pregnant and look like you’re probably running a temperature again.” He scrutinizes me as he carries me up to the front door and up the wide sweeping steps. He makes carrying me seem effortless; nothing is showing on his face or body, and his walk is seemingly unaffected.

“It’s the car. It seems to make this so much worse.” I sigh, burying my face into his neck. This is not how I expected

to greet Sylvana Carrero when ...