Peter’s POV

There are moments in life when you suddenly understand that you are completely, utterly unqualified for the situation you are in. This is one of those moments. It is Saturday morning. It is not even seven o’clock. The sun is barely up. The house is quiet in that dangerous way that only happens right before chaos. And I am standing in the kitchen holding a baby bottle, as if it might explode. Donna is crying. Not politely. Not gently. Not in a “I am a tiny angel” way. ...